A New Leaf
by leian
Summary: There was a price to pay for Elena coming back.
1. Prologue: Vampire Diaries Summary

**Author's Notes:** Here's a short synops of the Vampire Diaries, for those who may be reading this fic but have not actually read the four books it's based on. Needless to say, _major_ VD spoilers up ahead! 

**Disclaimer:** The following story and all the characters contained therein belong to L.J. Smith. No money made or harm intended from this summary or the fanfiction to follow. Any errors or mistelling on my part is unintentional so please excuse and feel free to correct. 

* * *

_In Renaissance Italy, there lived two brothers, aristocratic sons of a count. Damon, the elder of the two was a rebel; the younger, Stefan, was a more filial son. Stefan fell for the daughter of his father's business associate, Katherine. Unfortunately, she also caught the eye of Stefan's rake of a brother, who quickly won her. _

Katherine was a vampire, changed by a man named Klaus, to save her life. The brothers forced her to choose between them, but she could not and changed them both into vampires instead. She believed that that they could be three 'joyous companions forever.' 

Far from it, the brothers fought. Katherine killed herself out of sadness, hoping to bring them together in comfort and shared grief. However, anguished by her death, the boys killed each other, completing the change into vampires. 

For five hundred years, Stefan lived in the shadows, hating his nature. Eventually, in 1992, he came to Fell's Church, Virginia. He even enrolled in the local high school, attempting to build a real life for himself. 

And there he met Elena Gilbert, queen of Robert E. Lee High School, who was the very image of his lost Katherine. They fell in love and even planned to marry. 

It was about then that mysterious deaths started happening around the little town. At the same time, Elena encountered Damon who was ruthless, powerful and highly seductive. He was obviously behind the murders. And determined to have Elena. 

Eventually, Elena became a vampire and it slowly became obvious that Damon was not the only danger in the town. It turned out to be the not-dead Katherine, who was mad - that is, angry and_ insane - and out for revenge (jealousy) and sadism (hurting the very two men she supposedly loved). _

Elena defeated her, dying in the process (vampires can't go out into sunlight without a particular amulet in this story). 

Six months later, Bonnie, Elena's budding psychic friend, began to have weird dreams about her. When Sue, a classmate, is killed, Bonnie followed Elena's dream-time instructions and summoned Stefan back to Fell's Church. He brought Damon with him. 

Another series of gruesome events followed, and the friends discovered that Klaus, the vampire that changed Katherine, was behind them. He was out to get Stefan, having an unreasoning hatred for the Italian vampire. 

The problem was, Klaus was an Original, one of the legendary vampires that had not started out as a human. Stefan could not beat him; not even Damon could defeat him. It was the Summer Solstice - the day when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest - and Bonnie appealed to Elena. She appeared and, with the help of the unquiet spirits of the war victims, bound Klaus harmlessly in the spirit realm. 

Elena healed the friends of the injuries they sustained in the fight against Klaus and returned to the spirit realm, unwillingly separated from Stefan once again. Miraculously, a minute later, she was returned to earth, to the very clearing where her friends had battled, in human form once more. 

And so our story begins... 

* * *

For more detail than that, you'll have to read the books. All four of them. 

Honestly, it would be best if you've read VD - more details referred to, that were not mentioned in this synops. For example, ANL starts with 'It was raining _again_' because Elena made it rain to put out the fires Klaus started with lightning balls (yes, I say balls - well, you'll understand if you read the books) during the battle. 


	2. Chapter One: Quiet

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ One ~   
  
It was raining again.  
  
Elena sat in silence, watching the fat, wet droplets falling. She pulled Bonnie's soft woolen shawl more tightly around her shoulders and leaned against the side of the building.   
  
It had been five days since Midsummer, the night of her miraculous return. After the mad euphoria and disbelief had worn off, everyone had fallen to practicalities. She and Stefan would leave Fell's Church in a couple of days. Where they would go, she had left to Stefan, had not asked.  
  
Elena rather thought she should be spending what precious little time she had left with her friends; Bonnie, Meredith, Matt, even Caroline. And Margaret. Elena had been stealing moments with her whenever she could, but the time would soon come for her to close that chapter for her baby sister.   
  
Yet, instead, here she was, huddled beneath a narrow awning, uncharacteristically enjoying the quiet. Memories ran through her mind's eye. Fell's Church was – had been? – home and she supposed this was her way of saying goodbye to it.  
  
::I must pay my respects to Mom and Dad. And Honoria,:: she thought absently.  
  
::Elena?:: The query brushed her mind. She could not answer telepathically, not anymore, but let her reply show in her public mind. ::Stefan.::  
  
He appeared around the side of the building, a dark blur in the misty gloom, and settled beside her. Elena didn't care if he was a little wet from the rain; she leaned against his side and let out a soundless sigh of contentment when his arm curled around her.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he breathed into her hair.  
  
"Oh, nothing much. Just thinking. Nothing important."  
  
"You gave everyone the slip. They all thought you were with someone else. I'd better let Bonnie know you're all right before they mount a search party," her vampire boyfriend said laughingly. There was a quiet joy to him now and he was still learning not to treat her like spun glass.  
  
He sent his message mentally and the silence stretched, both of them lost in their own thoughts, content to just be together. Finally Stefan stirred.  
  
"There something decidedly déjà vu-ish about this. Sitting under an overhang, watching water fall from the sky. The last time it was colder, though."  
  
"You never notice the cold," Elena smiled, remembering that time too.  
  
"At that time, neither did you." The solemnity of his tone made her look up. "Stefan?" she asked, uncertain of what he was thinking to inspire this change in mood.  
  
His smile looked a little forced and didn't reach his forest-green eyes, but he shook his head dismissively and tugged her head back into the hollow of his shoulder.   
  
Another spell of silence. Elena's memory turned back to when she had been a vampire, sitting with Stefan under the roof of the school, watching snowflakes drift lazily down. Snatches of their conversation then came back to her, and she remembered one subject they'd discussed then.  
  
"Is Damon still around?" she asked. He seemed to grow distant and she had a sense of him reaching out again mentally.   
  
"I... cannot find him. But that might not mean anything; I don't think he will be found if he doesn't wish to be."  
  
She thought to ask him if he'd fed, then decided against it. "I wonder what he'll do now. He's been shadowing you, on and off, for the past five hundred years. Habits that old are hard to break. Do you suppose…?"  
  
"That he'll show up before we leave?" Stefan shrugged slightly "I believe Bonnie may have more insight into my big brother than I," he said wryly.  
  
"I wish he had agreed to stay with us," Elena admitted a little hesitantly. Beneath her cheek, Stefan's chest rose and fell as he sighed.  
  
"Maybe it's better this way. For him. It can't be easy playing the fifth wheel, watching us and wanting you."  
  
Now it was her turn to sigh. "I do care for him. But only as a brother." She craned her neck again. "Don't you wish you had a chance to get to know him more, now that the past is no longer between you?"  
  
There was a short pause as Stefan considered. "Perhaps," he said finally. His arm squeezed her, signaling a change in the subject. "Let's go. The others are planning a farewell for us. It's suppose to be a surprise." He pulled away and grinned mischievously at her. "Shall we go make them work a little?"  
  
Elena smiled, but shook her head in mock censure. "Stefan Salvatore, is that any way to treat your friends?" She saw his eyes widen and thought his breath catch at the last word before his smile grew.  
  
"Well? Are you coming or not?"  
  
She chuckled. "Yes," she said, pretending reluctance. "But only because someone's got to keep you in line!" 


	3. Chapter Two: Parting

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Two ~   
  
The next day's-end found Elena standing, head bowed, before the white gravestone with the simple engraving: _Gilbert_. Cool evening breezes lifted locks of hair that tickled her face.   
  
She had already laid a small bunch of wildflowers on Honoria Fell's reposing marble figure.  
  
A question Matt had asked her days ago came to mind. Stefan had gone to retrieve his car; Damon and his sexy black Ferrari had disappeared. She and Matt had been seated comfortably together on the couch, drawing a jaundiced look from Caroline. "So, what was it like, the afterlife? Do you remember anything?" he had said quietly while the three girls were discussing the merits of Keanu Reeves versus Brad Pitt.   
  
::Do I remember?:: Elena shivered suddenly. She brushed impatiently at a strand of hair, as if to shoo the thought away, and knelt, placing a hand on the headstone. "I'm back here again, Mom, Dad. But things can't be the way they were before... well, you know. So I'm going to go away with Stefan, to where no one knows us. I don't know when I might be back, if ever, so this is goodbye for a while," she said softly, running her fingers along the smooth edge of the marker.  
  
"I've been spending a little time with Margaret. Telling her about you both, giving her your love, being the big sister I never really took the time to be, before. I wish she could have known you..." she went on wistfully. "Robert and Aunt Judith are wonderful, but they're not _you_." Her fingers trailed across the surface of the marble and over the engraving. _Gilbert_. Someone had told her once that the name meant a promise, a pledge.   
  
Heavy warmth settled about her shoulders. Elena covered Stefan's hand on her shoulder with her own in thanks. They spent some minutes in silence as Elena said her goodbyes to her parents.   
  
Finally, Elena gathered the cloak Stefan had placed about her shoulders and let him help her to her feet. They made their way, in the twilight, across the cemetery, past the crumbling old church building, across the new bridge that had replaced Wickery Bridge and to the Gilbert – now the Maxwell – house.  
  
***  
  
Elena hugged her sister tight. When her eyes opened, the lapis depths were dark with sadness.   
  
"How about I read you a bedtime story?" she asked, deliberately keeping a light note in her voice. "I don't think I've done that..." In too long? Enough? Ever?   
  
"Yes!" the five-year-old image of Elena said. She pulled a thin hardbound volume off her bookcase and gave it to her big sister, then climbed into bed. Elena tucked the covers around her snugly, then opened the front cover and began to read _Snow White and Rose Red_.   
  
She almost hated to see Margaret's eyes drift shut and her breathing even out. Long after Margaret was fast asleep, Elena sat and gazed at her peaceful angelic face.  
  
::You learned to appreciate your gifts and blessings, not to take things for granted::, she thought. ::Too late, usually.:: Elena promised herself that she would not in future. A little voice in her whispered that it would make her soft, while another expressed skepticism at the promise.   
  
She resolutely squelched both and turned to Stefan, a shadow perched on the maple tree outside Margaret's window. He had been keeping Aunt Judith away and making sure she didn't hear any sound out of Margaret's room.  
  
"Could you..?" She trailed off, a lump in her throat. He nodded, then his expression unfocused as he altered Margaret's memories. Elena would only be a dream to her. Margaret's big sister hoped that the dreams would be enough; she didn't want her to ever feel that she was not loved.  
  
Stefan offered her a hand to help her climb out the window. She paused to carefully draw the curtains and shut the windowpane before climbing down the tree.  
  
On the ground, Stefan awaited her, his leaf green eyes shadowed and unfathomable. She stared at him for a moment before throwing herself into his arms and letting his woolen sweater soak up her quiet tears. He held her wordlessly, cradling her gently, with moonlight filtering through the maple branches, for a long while.  
  
***  
  
"_Surprise!_"  
  
Elena hid a smile and blinked as the lights came on and four people jumped out from behind furniture at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stefan open his eyes very wide and attempt to look astonished. ::You're overacting,:: she thought at him and his eyes slid to her momentarily.  
  
On her part, she clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a laugh and emitted a small shriek as if in excitement when she managed to without choking.  
  
"Oh my gosh, you guys!" she exclaimed. She rather thought she was doing a good job pretending but noticed Meredith, arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips.  
  
"You knew," she surmised dryly and shot a glance at Bonnie, whose glowing smile was subsiding. Caroline rolled her eyes and Matt looked mildly disgusted. "I think you need to work on your shields, Bon. Or perhaps learn to control your emotions," Meredith went on.   
  
"Hey, how do you know it was me? It might have been any of you! Right, Stefan? You could read any of the others' minds?" the petite redhead protested.  
  
Stefan opened his mouth to reply but Caroline chimed in, "But yours being the most psychically powerful mind among us, it would be logical for him to have picked it up from you instead of the rest of us mental mutes."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Matt murmured. Fortunately, Caroline was standing on the other end of the room and didn't catch that comment.   
  
"And besides," Bonnie went on in her own defense. "We Celts are an emotional people. You can't blame me for my heritage!"  
  
Elena shot Stefan a _look_ for spoiling the surprise and held up a hand. It took a moment for her friends to fall silent.   
  
"Thank you," she said simply. "This was very good of you all." She stepped forward and hugged them each in turn: Bonnie, Meredith, then Caroline and finally Matt.  
  
She looked around, one arm around the tall blonde ex-quarterback and smiled around the room. "Now, let's party!"  
  
***  
  
The six of them were lounging about, having put away most of the pizza, chips, sandwiches, salad-rolls and Jell-O that had been laid out on the coffee table. Stefan personally thought it odd to be drinking wine, given that menu, but Caroline had handed Matt a bottle of expensive vintage after the last of the soda was consumed.   
  
Meredith and Bonnie had left the room at that point, escaping Caroline's slightly catty lecture on how to open a bottle of dry red. Matt had sent Stefan a pointed look. Stefan had been wondering if the blonde had been seeking commiseration, assistance or if the look was meant to convey accusation when the two girls had reemerged with six tall crystal wine glasses.  
  
The cork finally came off – narrowly missing the Forbes' crystal chandelier, Stefan noticed – and Matt filled their glasses with exaggerated care. Stefan gallantly served the girls their drinks, then held up his own glass. Five human faces turned to him. Open, warm, accepting. Stefan thought that this was a headier vintage than what he held in his hand.  
  
"A toast," he said quietly. "To all of you whom I have come to know since I arrived here last year. May your lives be as rich as you have made mine." He raised his glass high and the rest mimicked his gesture. "To friends, present and absent."  
  
"To friends," they echoed. All sipped from their glasses, but Stefan added a silent toast to one missing individual in particular before he drank. _To you, brother._  
  
He settled down beside Elena, close but not touching. They exchanged a glance. ::Well done,:: he heard her say in her mind. He felt his expression soften then she turned back to listen to what Bonnie was saying about a book her Druid cousin had sent her.   
  
Talk was winding down, replaced by the silent, easy companionship of a group of people who had been through a lot together. Even Caroline fit in, the closeness from the girls' early years reasserting itself.  
  
The clock chimed twice and Meredith, Bonnie and Caroline got up, saying that it was time for the girls' slumber party to get underway. Elena hung back, laughing as the teenage blonde and the five-century-old vampire good-naturedly stepped out the front door.  
  
Later, back in the Flowers' boarding house, Stefan lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head. Reaching for sleep and pushing away the nagging thought that had been on his mind for days now: Elena was human again. And someday, he would lose her.   
  
::Idiot,:: he mentally kicked himself. ::After everything that has happened, after everything that you've been through to get here, to be together, you worry about her living out her mortal span and leaving you alone in the world? Unworthy!:: he shouted at himself. He flipped onto his side and thrust one hand under his pillow. But the fiendish thought would not give him peace and while he slept, eventually, Stefan tossed in troubled dreams.  
  
***  
  
It was late afternoon when they gathered again. Stefan shook Matt's hand gravely and accepted hugs from the girls. Elena hugged Caroline, then Matt, then Bonnie and Meredith, holding them close and feeling tears sting her eyes. "You take care, now," was said with heartfelt intensity more than once. "Stay in touch."  
  
Finally, Stefan slid into the driver's seat of his Porsche; the very one he had been driving that first day to Robert E. Lee High School. Elena paused for a final glance around, one foot in the car. Autumn sunlight slanted through the leaves in the woods behind the boarding house, turning the world golden. Elena took a deep breath and got in. She looked out the open window and waved at her lifelong friends till they rounded a bend and fell out of sight. 


	4. Chapter Three: Passage

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Three ~  
  
The hinges creaked as the door swung open slowly. A wedge of light from the corridor fell on the figure huddled over a still form on the narrow cot along the wall.  
  
The man – little more than a boy, really – twisted in his crouched position to look over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and disoriented as he stared at the person silhouetted against the light.  
  
"Help. Help... me..." he breathed threadily.  
  
The figure moved closer and he noted, without understanding, that it was a girl. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on the quiet body on the bed. Two small marks were stark on the white neck.  
  
The man, whose name was Eiran, shut his eyes, but could not deny the scene before him. He was young, as such things were measured among vampires – a mere three decades. His beloved – her name was Grace – had been the light of his life for the past five years. She had known about him, of course. Had even asked to be changed so that they may live out eternity together. Eiran had steadfastly refused for a reason that now seemed all the more stupid; he did not want her to live in the shadows, as he had to.  
  
He had been attacked by a vampire one day, changed at random for sport and left to fend for himself. He hated what he was, forced to live on other creatures, other people. He tried to go without as much as possible, starving himself to the point of being dangerous.  
  
Now his worst nightmare had come true; wakening from the feeding frenzy to hold Grace's cold, limp body in his hands. Her eyes stared glassily at the ceiling in shock, in fear, in pain.  
  
"No," he breathed and sobbed quietly.  
  
"What can I do?" the unknown female asked.   
  
"Take it away. Take it all away," he said incoherently, meaning the bloodlust, the killing, the never-ending, fear-filled, painful _need_.  
  
"Are you sure?" she asked, dragging his awareness away from the inward swirl of agony and self-hatred and back to the mundane, physical world.  
  
"Yes!" he screamed at her, raging.  
  
"Very well," she said, and raising a stake he had not seen her holding, rammed it through his undead heart.  
  
***  
  
Eiran's apartment looked different with morning sunlight streaming in through the window. The ray played across the cot against the wall – now empty. Later that day, it touched the edges of a large brown stain on the floor, a remnant of the vampire's heart's final contractions. Towards evening, the light caught the simple gold circle set with a lapis lazuli that had been left on the desk.   
  
***  
  
To: bonbons, msulez  
From: nightlight  
Subject: What a good idea!  
Date: Wed, 22 July 1992 12:45:06 -0700  
  
Dear Bonnie, Meredith,  
  
I've finally got myself an AOL account! Meredith, this is great! Now you can write me without us worrying about your letters getting lost in the mail! Thanks for telling us about it! (Yes, I'm excited – you can tell from the exclamation marks.)  
  
Anyway, Stefan's fine and so am I. We just arrived in San Francisco and I think we'll stay awhile – there's so much to see! As always, how long we'll stay and where we'll go after this is anyone's guess.  
  
Gonna go see 'Frisco now! Hear from ya!  
  
Love,  
E.  
  
***  
  
To: nightlight  
From: bonbons  
Subject: Re: Hiya!  
Date: Thurs, 13 Sept 1992 14:05:41 -0400  
  
Dear E (& S),  
  
I'm writing this during media studies lab – needless to say, I'm bored out of my mind. Why am I doing this course again?   
  
Anyway (totally ignoring that fuddy-duddy of a lecturer), how is the East Coast? Where are you now; New York? Philadelphia? Boston? Atlantic City? Oh, to be in the Big Apple right now. Well, anywhere but here.   
  
E, remember that incredibly gorgeous guy in my graphics design class? Well, we somehow ended up sitting together in yesterday's class. His name is Ken (and if you say anything about Barbie…) Barton. He asked me out! We're going for a movie and dinner. Give you the juicy details later.   
  
Did I tell you? I'm going to visit Kerri, my Druid cousin, again. Not quite sure when, but I'm definitely going!  
  
Oh, good, class is over. Tty next time.  
  
Bonns  
  
***  
  
To: nightlight  
From: msulez  
Subject: Settling in...  
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 01:25:08 -0400  
  
Hey E.  
  
It's been a week since I got here. I'm settling in okay. I've got a roommate here in the halls. Her name's Fiona Haydn. I haven't seen much of her - she's out all the time – so it's a little hard to tell if we get along.   
  
Alaric's been showing me around the campus and town. There's quite a lot to do; Duke's a little busier than Boone would have been. I won't lack things to do. (wry) I do miss Bonnie, though.   
  
Alaric will be leaving for China in a couple of weeks. Palmistry and other traditional fortune-telling abilities there.  
  
How's Chicago? Write soon!  
  
Meredith  
  
***  
  
To: nightlight  
From: bonbons  
Subject: Omigosh!  
Date: Fri, 5 Feb 1993 21:30:26 -0400  
  
Elena, omigosh! I got it! I love it! Thank you thankyouthankyou! It's _perfect_! It's wonderful, lovely, so, so great! I'm speechless! Where did you _find_ it?  
  
Okay, breathe. I'm breathing. It's really, really out-of-this-world marvelous.   
  
The length of the chain is _just right_. The pendant could not have fallen better if it had been custom-made. I'm going to wear it tonight with my new black spaghetti strap top. Matt's in town, so he's taking me out to dinner. I'm _sure_ he'll approve of the combination. (Wink)  
  
Just wanted to let you know I got it and I love it! Thank you again.   
  
Okay, I'll stop now.  
  
Bonnie.  
  
***  
  
To: bonbons  
From: nightlight  
Subject: Need a favor  
Date: Fri, 30 Apr 1993 02:31:00 -0400  
  
Hey Bon,  
  
Sorry I haven't written in a while – was getting over another case of flu. I've either developed an allergy to something all of a sudden or it's a hormonal thing; I seem to be catching the bug all the time now.  
  
Anyway, I need a favor from you; Margaret's birthday is in two weeks. I got her some things; hair stuff, some knick knacks, a bracelet. Would you give them to her for me? How is she doing, do you know? And Aunt Judith?  
  
E.  
  
***  
  
To: nightlight  
From: msulez  
Subject: (None)  
Date: Tues, 18 May 1993 03:28:59 -0400  
  
Dear E,  
  
Alaric and I broke up tonight. There, I've said it.   
  
Why? Well,... it just got too hard, what with him traveling all the time and me trying to handle school and having a part-time boyfriend.   
  
We still care for each other very much. Somehow, that makes it harder, not easier. We're still good friends, when it boils down to it. But I think we both need some time on our own to put things in perspective. It's too easy right now to go beyond the bounds of friendship, when we're both so used to being more. Where to draw the line?  
  
Anyway, I'm going to bed; all I need is to flunk out to bring the whole world crashing down around my ears. Move on, right? Keep busy? That's what people always say. Yeah, see, I'm doing okay. I'll just keep saying that. Eventually, I know, it will be true.  
  
Thanks for listening. Talk to you some more another time.  
  
Meredith  
  
***  
  
To: bonbons  
From: nightlight  
Subject: Sleepless in Seattle  
Date: Sun, 6 Jun 1993 04:01:36 -0700  
  
Hey Bonnie,  
  
I'm rather restless tonight. Maybe I'll take a walk along the wharf. It's such a beautiful summer's night.   
  
Have you heard from Meredith? Hope she's doing better. I wish there was something more we could do for her. Well, it's been a couple of weeks. Give her time, right? (sigh) Guess neither of us can help but worry about her.  
  
I've been thinking lately that maybe I could do a distance learning course. Seeing new places is all good and well, but I can't be doing that for the rest of my life! I mean, I want to learn so much more, to make something of myself. Then I think, "What for?" It's not like I can build myself a career or stay long enough in a place to even take on a full-time job! And not that I need to; Stefan has enough to take care of us both for as long as necessary.   
  
Maybe I will go for that walk now. Hope life's treating you well.  
  
*hugs*  
E.  
  
***  
  
Elena shut the laptop with a faint click that sounded clearly in the dim silence of the room. Stefan was sleeping peacefully. Elena thought that it was ironic for him, a supposed creature of night, to be sound asleep while she suffered insomnia.  
  
Quietly, she grabbed her things and a coat and left. The building where they rented an apartment was located on the fringes of the city. It was a fifteen minute walk to the wharf, where fishing vessels came in daily to deliver fresh seafood to the city's health-conscious, affluent consumers. At this hour, the place bustled, but gently, the frenzy of activity yet to begin.  
  
Elena paused to lean against the rail and felt the breeze off the water ruffle her hair. She had let it grow out in the past year and it now reached mid-back.   
  
The past year had been good, she acknowledged. She and Stefan had talked as they had never done – had never had the chance to do, really – in the past. They spent endless hours getting to know each other; on the road, curled together in the dark at night, sightseeing in city after city. In the first few months, they never ran out of things to talk about. She had learned so much about Stefan; he liked Latin dancing but refused to sing a note, for example, and he couldn't stomach the smell of seaweed so sushi was a no-no.  
  
But then, they had fallen into a routine. She found herself taking his presence – taking _him_ – for granted sometimes. What was worse was that they were increasingly insensitive and intolerant towards each other. The realization depressed her thoroughly.   
  
The glow of first love had faded and she now realized that having a lasting relationship took a lot of work. Jokes about mundane, domestic differences breaking up relationships did not seem so funny anymore.   
  
Oh, it wasn't the toothpaste or any other physical habits that were the trouble; it ran deeper than that.   
  
Stefan was, at the core of his being, an aristocrat. The mystery of his source of income had been solved quickly enough.   
  
Like many aristocrats, he didn't work; he dealt in commodities. Over his 500-odd years in the world, he had invested in items that were of little value in their time and sold them later – when they were valuable antiques. Proceeds from that were in turn invested in other ventures, which yielded returns, creating a snowball effect. Elena rather thought he might have worked, in the beginning, as a penniless, disoriented new vampire in the streets of Florence, once upon a time. Then again, she reconsidered, it was equally likely that he had gained his seed money from his early victims' coin. She pushed that thought away gingerly.   
  
Wealth in itself was not the problem. The issue was that Elena wanted to be self-sufficient. She wanted to earn her own living, not rely on him to provide for her food and lodging – her every material need. She did not want his charity.   
  
Was it really a matter of living off him that she objected to? No, this was a genuine need for self-actualization on her part. She remembered clearly when she'd registered the craving. They had spent the day in yet another of a hundred parks they'd been to over the past year, browsed a mall much like any other, visited a museum that held nothing remarkable. A question had emerged in her mind that evening, while they had been curled together on the couch, watching TV, "Is this how it's going to be from now on?" The prospect had frightened her more than she could have believed.   
  
Elena Gilbert was not – and never would be – mediocre, she had sworn then.  
  
_Stefan has enough to take care of us both for as long as necessary,_ she had told Bonnie and it as true. Stefan would gladly let her take any course or training she desired – and pay for it – it was just a diversion to him, something to pass the time, not something practical, to be put to use. Stefan _expected_ to provide for her. What was more, he expected her to accept that as a matter of course. Both were assumptions ingrained in him from birth.  
  
As much as he respected and cherished her, he did not feel that she could – or should – take care of herself, financially or physically.  
  
Were there _two_ issues here? Her not wanting to depend on his generosity and his not treating her as an equal? Yes, she decided.   
  
Elena felt the beginnings of a headache. Arguments were beginning to run together and stop making sense. Glancing at her watch – which Stefan had got her shortly after they left Virginia – she realized that she'd been out there for slightly more than an hour.   
  
Philosophically, but oddly jaded, she thought, ::I'm not going to solve this tonight. It's time to get some shut-eye,:: and retraced her steps.  
  
She slipped back into the apartment and sighed with relief when she saw Stefan slumbering peacefully. As she slid in beside him, however, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close against his side. "You should have woken me," he murmured.   
  
Elena turned her head to find his solemn green eyes lucent and thoughtful. She bit back a remark that she was perfectly capable of taking a walk on her own. "No, I shouldn't have," she said lightly. "You were asleep and there's no reason for both of us to stay up all night." She snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes, tacitly indicating an end to the conversation.   
  
Sleep was not far away and she did not wonder if Stefan said anything after that. 


	5. Chapter Four: Meeting

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's note: This chapter underwent some significant changes on 20 October.  
  
  
~ Four ~  
  
"Stefan Salvatore."  
  
Stefan turned, surprised, his expression going instantly wary. He did not acknowledge the salutation, merely looked at the person who had addressed him. The other looked like a drug addict, with slumberous eyes and a gaunt frame.  
  
"So you are the Crow's baby brother," the man – vampire, Stefan realized – went on and slipped casually into the seat beside him. At Stefan's narrowed eyes, he elaborated, "Damon. That's what we used to call him."  
  
"What of it?" the younger Salvatore said noncommittally. He looked away, afraid that his eyes would betray the interest that kindled in his heart.  
  
"Oh, nothing. I knew him way back when. Learned a lot from watching him – I was fairly new back then – and I've always wondered about the brother. Whether you two were anything alike. Seems not; if I hadn't been looking, I would have mistaken you for a human, your aura's that weak."  
  
Stefan ignored the last statement. "You were looking for _me_?" A touch of self-deprecation mixed with suspicion in his tone.  
  
"Not in particular, just keeping an eye out for any brother undead," the stranger said easily. Stefan's lip curled – vampires were not social creatures by nature, unless someone wanted something – and he made to get up.  
  
A hand clamped on his arm, vise-like. "Stay awhile." The stranger's tone was mild. Stefan was stronger than a human, but this one was obviously well fed and maintained his grip effortlessly. Anger and distrust sparking in his forest-green eyes, Stefan settled back down. The hand retreated and the man, who had not lost his affable air, leaned towards him.   
  
"You should know that chaos is brewing in our world. A rumor – a prophecy – of a Power that will wipe out all vampires. It is a threat to us all and you can bet that a lot of us are not taking it sitting down. We're on the hunt of our lives – or _for_ our lives, as the case may be." The stranger's eyes glittered with anticipation, his expression a clear invitation for Stefan to join in the fun.  
  
"Sounds like you have more than enough people on the lookout. Why are you telling me any of this?" His tone made it clear that he wanted no part in this 'hunt'.   
  
The other vampire leaned back. "Your brother gave me some help when I was in a tight spot once. Call this a little payback, looking out for you."   
  
Stefan nearly said bitterly that he doubted Damon would thank his old acquaintance for his gesture, then caught himself. A year was too short at time for five-hundred-year-old habits to die and Stefan had to remind himself that his old hatreds with Damon had been put to rest. Instead, he calmly pulled out a bill that covered both his and the other's drink, dropped it on the table and left. This time, the other let him go.  
  
Outside, Stefan stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, thoughtlessly imitating the humans hurrying along home after an evening out. He had spent most of the day attending to his business affairs and had stopped by the café – ostensibly for a cup of coffee, but really to wait for dusk and its concealing cloak of darkness to fall before he hunted. He wished now, fervently, that he had gone home instead.  
  
Why was he so disturbed? By what the unknown vampire had told him? It was not as if he reveled in being a vampire or even particularly cared about the fate of vampires as a race. It was pure, instinctive survival instinct, he supposed. The defensive fear of a creature whose existence was threatened.   
  
Or perhaps it was being reminded of Damon and all the regrets and emotional turmoil he inspired. He knew Elena still thought of him from time to time. Stefan himself sometimes wondered where he was, what he was doing. He could almost hear Damon's cutting, ::I'm a big boy, little brother. I can take care of myself.::  
  
His mind turned to the months between Elena's death as a vampire and his return to Fell's Church, when he had dogged Damon's steps from Virginia to – and across – Europe. Eventually, Damon had switched tactics from running away to flaunting his un-Stefanlike principles: feeding off unsuspecting humans being one of them.  
  
Thinking of feeding reminded Stefan of his errand. It was harder to feed in the city, with fewer animals to hunt. Fortunately, Elena agreed with his decision not to drink human blood.   
  
::She's changed,:: something inside him suddenly said. ::Once upon a time, she might have held that drug traffickers, pimps, rapists and murderers were ideal prey. Her time on the Other Side has marked her, subtly but deeply.:: She spoke little of the afterlife and he did not ask, but he gathered that she remembered quite a bit.  
  
That was neither here nor there and Stefan headed towards a nearby park. He almost heard Damon in his head, sneering at the thought of squirrel. He sighed and it was almost wistful.  
  
***  
  
Leon Morris watched as the younger Salvatore brother made short work of the squirrel. He trailed him from the park back to the apartment building; he never once needed to shield or hide; Stefan didn't check to see if he was followed. Leon saw the blonde human girl who greeted him and went, "Ah. Figures." A looker, to be sure, but still...  
  
Leon shrugged and left. 


	6. Chapter Five: Truth

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Five ~  
  
"Elena?" Stefan called, shutting the front door. He checked each room and frowned when he found the apartment empty. Going into the modest kitchen, he spotted a note on the fridge.  
  
::Out for a while,:: it read. ::Back in two hours.:: Elena had put the time beneath her initial; she had left more than an hour ago.   
  
Stefan wandered through the apartment aimlessly for a bit, then sat down on the well-used leather couch that had come with the apartment. He picked up a book on the coffee table, which he had been rereading, and tried to lose himself in it.  
  
It was a struggle; his mind wandered, and he had barely turned a page when Elena returned twenty minutes later.   
  
"Hi there, sweetie," she said with a big smile on her face. She planted a peck on his cheek and sat down beside him. The couch sunk in a little more. "Guess what?"  
  
"Hm?" Stefan put down the book and looked expectantly at her.   
  
"I got a job!"  
  
It took a second for that to register. "A job."  
  
"Yes! Isn't that great? It was a little difficult, since I can't show any qualification or even identification, but I dazzled them – I think – and they offered to let me start immediately!"  
  
"I hadn't realized that you were looking for a job," Stefan said slowly.  
  
"Oh, remember when I was throwing around ideas about courses to take and what to do with my life? Well, I saw this sign in the window the other day and thought I'd give it a shot. And I got it!" Elena jumped up and pumped her clenched fist in the air victoriously. "Yes!"  
  
Stefan stared at her for a few moments. "What will you be doing?" he asked eventually.  
  
"Event management! Conventions, exhibitions, that sort of thing. Isn't it great?" His unemotional reception finally penetrated her jubilation. She stopped whirling around in excitement. "Stefan? What's wrong?"   
  
He was momentarily at a lost for words. Finally, he came up with, "Why?"   
  
::Why didn't you discuss this with me first? Why are you doing this? What about our plans? We weren't planning to stay here long, were we?:: his mind supplied, once the temporary halt was broken.  
  
"Why what? Why am I taking this job?"   
  
"Why are you taking _any_ job?"  
  
Elena waved her hands expressively. Talking with her hands, they called it. "I want to... to pull my own weight, be able to support my own needs, not having to rely on you for everything –"  
  
"And why not? Do I begrudge you anything?" Stefan asked intently. He was tensed, sitting forward, nearly quivering with distress.  
  
"_No!_" Her denial was immediate, a knee-jerk response. "You've given me everything one person can give another. But there are some things you _can't_ give me; self-fulfillment, a sense of achievement. I want to make something of myself."  
  
::Am I not sufficient? Is being my beloved and someday, my wife, not fulfilling enough for you?:: he questioned but could not bring himself to ask aloud. Even to his own mental ears, it sounded appallingly self-centered. His stomach was a tight knot and his throat was closed.   
  
Conceited or not, an honest little voice in him pointed out that it was exactly what he wanted – to be her whole world, as she was his.  
  
Elena was carrying on reasonably. "I guess this is a little bit of a surprise, but I _have_ mentioned that I'd like to take up something, develop new skills–"   
  
He shot out of his seat. "Perhaps, but it was just talk with no mention of immediate action."  
  
She fixed her wide eyes on him, sinking onto the couch he had just vacated. "What is this? Why are you so upset?" she demanded again.  
  
He jammed his fingers into his hair, then combed them to the back of his head and dropped his hand, angry, hesitant, and frustrated all at once.   
  
"I can see that this is important," Elena said quietly. "Stefan," she prompted when he remained silent. Even now, a year on, she could catch his attention just by saying his name. Lapis lazuli eyes bore into forest green ones. She reached out and caught his hand. The metal band of his ring suddenly felt very cold compared to the warmth of her fingers. "Talk to me."  
  
He took a deep breath, searching for words to express how he felt. Unfortunately, it came out as, "How can you think of taking a _job_ when we already only have so few years together?"  
  
When she stared at him this time, it was in utter amazement. "What are you talking about, 'so few years'? We have an entire lifetime ahead –"  
  
"A human lifetime," he blurted and paled. This was the first time he had ever brought up the subject of her mortality.  
  
She looked nonplussed, but only for a moment.   
  
Her mouth opened but nothing came out; she drew a short, sharp breath instead. Her expression became outraged. She dropped his hand and jumped to her feet. "What?" she half shouted.   
  
He groped for something to say but did not manage to find anything before she went on. "After all we've been through, after this… this second chance, this great blessing. A lifetime: Isn't that enough? Aren't _I_ enough for you?" Stefan was disconcerted to hear his own thought coming out of her mouth. "What, you want me to change again so that we can have 'joyful eternity together'? And if I don't? Am I suppose to devote my entire life – excuse me, my entire _short, mortal_ life – to you? Won't I get a chance to _live_?"  
  
"And spending your time with me is not living? How odd that most people on the street would say differently," Stefan flared back. "I'm not asking for anything I'm not willing to give as well, Elena. I'm devoting my life to you, too."  
  
"You have time! Eternity. You'll have all the time you want to live it up after I'm dead and gone–"  
  
"So I'm suppose to just put my life on hold until you're gone, while you go about having your own life?" Stefan put in quietly, but Elena went on, talking right over him.  
  
"_I_ only have this one life – eighty years, tops. What will I be forty years down the road? What would I have made of myself? I'll be old and ugly, if nothing else. And you – you will be young and handsome and powerful and wealthy, with the whole world spread out at your feet."  
  
"Is this what it's all about? Your desire to be independent? You're building a security net for yourself in case I run after some young, pretty girl?" Stefan asked. His lips twisted in a half-sneer and his jaw tightened.  
  
"_No!_–" Elena began in a scathing, sarcastic tone, then broke off. "Well, now that you mention it," she said, more reasonably.   
  
Now it was Stefan who stared, offended.   
  
A tiny, sad ghost of a smile touched Elena's lips. "Truth is truth. Have you considered how we'll look, forty years down the road?" She sank back onto the couch and tilted her head back to look up at him. Her shoulders relaxed and drooped.   
  
"Do you think I care?" he said heatedly. She shook her head, still wearing that bittersweet smile.   
She was denying his unspoken avowal, not disagreeing with his statement. "I don't think either of us will be able to help ourselves, then," she said honestly.  
  
Silence descended and stretched. Finally, she asked, "How long have you been thinking about this – my being human?"  
  
"A while," he said uninformatively.   
  
"When?" she insisted.   
  
Their gazes clashed and held until Stefan gave in. "Since we left Fell's Church."  
  
A look of pain crossed Elena's face. "I'm taking this job," she said calmly, finality in her tone. "I'm not asking you to sit around all day and wait for me, either; it's up to you to build your own life." She paused and Stefan, touching her thoughts, saw her grasp the issues of mortality and the future... and push them away.   
  
"As for the rest... let's leave it for now," she said. Stefan's nostril's flared briefly and his lips tightened, but after a moment's consideration, he nodded.  
  
Later that night, they lay on the same bed but the air was cold between them. Stefan could sense Elena's need to be held and comforted conflicting with her pride, hurt and anger. For himself, he longed for the oblivion of sleep and hoped that no dreams would find him. 


	7. Chapter Six: Tears

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Six ~   
  
Work was dismal. Elena unenthusiastically tossed the masking tape and scissors into the box of supplies. She scowled, but that, too, was half-hearted. She'd worked late the past two nights, helping to prepare for the charity arts and craft show coming up this weekend.  
  
She didn't really mind the long hours – what did she have to look forward to in the evenings? No, she was glad for the excuse to stay out late and avoid going back to the apartment.  
  
Unfortunately, her depression turned work that may have been fun, interesting and challenging into tasks that were tedious, menial and difficult. It didn't help that her attention wandered and she messed up the simplest jobs.  
  
"Miss Godfrey."   
  
She had taken her mother's maiden name shortly after leaving Fell's Church as a precaution against people looking up Elena Gilbert and finding a death certificate or an old newspaper article or obituary.  
  
She turned, her expression becoming sourer. When she saw the Jayne Levitt standing with Timothy Fielding, her heart sank. "Mr. Fielding," she replied. She had intended to sound neutral but the acknowledgment came out flat instead.  
  
The burly man eyed her down the bridge of his long, pointy nose for a pregnant moment. He reminded her of the dead Mr. Tanner, her high school history teacher; condescending, haughty and spiteful.  
  
"As you know, your status here with us is provisional until you have proven yourself capable. The agreement was for a one-month probation period. However," Elena stifled the urge to grab his loud orange neck-tie and use it as a garrote to silence his pompous, stuffy speech. "However, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your current performance is far, _far_ from the acceptable level. Unless you improve," and his tone indicated how likely he felt that to be, "Your employment with us will be terminated at the end of one month."  
  
Elena hung on to her temper. "Yes, sir. I understand," she managed to say. He nodded, stared at her consideringly for another two seconds, then left. Elena turned to go, forgetting Jayne until she felt a touch on her elbow. She rounded, ready to snap but the clear green eyes made her pause.  
  
"Hi," she said shortly.  
  
"Problems?" the older woman asked.  
  
Elena hesitated, then her chin tilted up. "Yes." She didn't say it, but her tone added a "So?" behind that statement.  
  
Jayne's eyes momentarily darkened to a color that sent a stab through Elena. "Ah. Pity. We thought you had a lot of potential," Jayne said dismissively.  
  
Elena stared after her, jaw set and clenched. Jayne had been the main speaker in the panel of interviewers and she and Elena had gotten along well. She was a handsome woman, vibrant and dynamic. Elena held deep respect and admiration for her, then and now, after two days of slogging it out on the exhibition hall floor.   
  
Disappointing Jayne added to Elena's burden of bitterness, hurt and anger. ::Damn him for this, too.:: Melancholy hung about her like the proverbial black cloud and trailed her as she gathered her things and set off home.   
  
Dinner was no less an ordeal; Elena picked at her food, unable to bring herself to look at Stefan. Since they had had it out, she had been brooded over their relationship and where they were headed. Try as she might, she could not see how things might work out.   
  
She jabbed her fork through a pea, held it up without really seeing it, then put it in her mouth. She could get a pea around the lump in her throat. Sure, she could. No sweat.  
  
She studied her plate, wondering what to try next, resolutely ignoring the way her eyes were burning.  
  
***  
  
Stefan could not stand the silence any longer.  
  
"I'm stepping out for a while. I won't be long," he said. A tiny nod was all the acknowledgement he got. He grabbed his jacket and closed the door behind him. Instead of heading down, though, he climbed the stairs to the roof.   
  
Their building was by no means the tallest structure around, but, thankfully, neither was it dwarfed by its neighbors.  
  
He sat on concrete edge, dangling his feet down into thin air. Before him, below him, Seattle sprawled, urbane, savvy, alive.   
  
::What was it Elena had said? 'You will be young and handsome and powerful and wealthy, with the whole world spread out at your feet.':: He irritably shook away the memory.  
  
Stefan remembered other times through the years when he had sat just like this on other buildings, with other cities stretched out below him. He was, he recognized humorlessly, feeling more suicidal than he had in a while. Perhaps the worse part of it all was the little voice inside that mocked him, "What if you really jumped – and didn't die?" As always, the irreverent suggestion drew a reluctant smile from him.  
  
He was tired. Not physically but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. After two days of replaying the fight, analyzing the arguments, pounding his head looking for solutions – two days of alternating between self-recriminations and angry tirades at the absent Elena – he ached.  
  
It was so tempting to not-think about any of it, except that he could sense Elena's anguish and it twisted him inside. Resolutely, he let his mind wander unfocused...  
  
::I've never felt so alone.::  
  
Her thought was like a small mental voice, lost and scared. He was all she had now, and she didn't even have him to turn to just then.  
  
::Think, think... how are we going to resolve this?:: a silent voice urged. ::Think. How?::  
  
Stefan was suddenly fed-up with thinking. He skidded away from the ledge and stood.   
  
When he let himself back into the apartment, he saw that Elena had tidied up and turned down the lights for the night. He found her in the bathroom, motionless, forehead pressed against the cool tile of the wall. The hand that had paused in the act of pulling the towel off the rack was fisted and white-knuckled.   
  
He came up behind her. His hands cupped her hips lightly and he rested his lips on the juncture of neck and shoulders, feeling the familiar ache in his canines.   
  
Still, she did not react. He drew her towards him and turned her to face him, gently but firmly. She pressed her bowed head against his chest, stubbornly refusing to look at him.  
  
He caressed her back and arms, helplessly trying to comfort her. Minutes passed in silence. Then, Stefan felt the tremors shaking her body. Her breathing roughened until, with a little gasp, the dam broke.   
  
She sobbed like her heart was breaking, her shoulders heaving with each painful breath. Stefan closed his eyes, grieved. She didn't say anything, but Stefan saw the questions that went around and around in her mind.   
  
What was happening to them? Were they breaking up? How could Stefan love her when she looked like an old woman? Could she bear to be with him then? Was she willing to trade her humanity for eternity with him? Were they just wrong for each other? How could they have gone through so much, only to come to this?  
  
He did the only thing he could. He held her – as he had nearly a year ago, beneath Margaret Gilbert's window – and let her cry. He held her all through the night, silent but giving her the touch and closeness she needed. Near dawn, they fell into exhausted slumber. 


	8. Chapter Seven: Love

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Seven ~  
  
When he woke, she was gone.  
  
She was at work, he saw, when he looked for her there. She was far from her typical self but he thought she did not look as strained as she had been the day before. Reassured that she had not left him, Stefan took himself off to the park to brood.  
  
::So, Salvatore,:: a brisk voice in his head said conversationally. ::How does it feel to be tearing the girl you love apart? You're doing a _much_ better job now single-handedly than you and your brother managed to do together.::  
  
::That's not fair! All I ever wanted was for her to be happy–:: he said defensively.  
  
::Correction; all you ever wanted was to be with her and be happy. That's not quite the same thing, you'll agree.:: The voice of his better sense pointed out.  
  
::Fine, but I certainly did _not_ set out to make her miserable. I just...never thought that being with me would make her _un_happy.::  
  
::Well, the fact remains that your overwhelming obsession with her and your equally pronounced sexism – yes, you saw that in her head too, didn't you? – are doing precisely that. So now you have to ask yourself, Stefan; do you love her enough – and here I am going to assume that love is what this is all about – to sacrifice your own happiness for hers? Even if it means leaving her?::  
  
At this, Stefan fell silent. It was never easy to recognize and acknowledge selfishness in one's self.  
  
::No,:: he said slowly. His resolve grew with each statement as he said to himself, almost defiantly, ::I can't walk away from her. But I'll make it up to her; I'll make her happy; I know I can. Whatever the future holds – I'll take what I can get.::   
  
***  
  
The apartment was dark when she got back. Elena felt a pang of fear before she noticed the faint yellow light in the kitchen.  
  
::A power outage?:: she wondered. ::I could have sworn there was light...::  
  
She stood in the threshold of the kitchen and stared in amazement. On the table, dinner was set for two. Twin silver-domed covers reflected the dancing candle flames. Stefan, looking utterly delicious with the light playing across the panes of his face came towards her. He reached for her hands and drew her through the doorway. She did not resist as he ushered her towards the table and held her chair for her in a courtly manner.   
  
She caught his hand as he started to go to his own seat. "Stefan, what is this?"  
  
His free hand covered hers and he dropped to one knee. "I realized that instead of counting down the days we have together, I should be _living_ each day as it comes. I don't know what the future holds, but I'm not going to spend the time we _have_ worrying about it.  
  
"I realized also that the only way to prove to you that I will love you, now and always, regardless of your physical appearance or circumstance, is to show you. And I realized that love does not limit or stifle; if you want to do new things with your life, I'll try not to hamper you – it may take a while," he admitted, smiling ruefully. "But I pledge to try."   
  
He became grave, as befitting a solemn declaration. "I love you, Elena Gilbert."  
  
She was smiling through tears. "Oh, Stefan." He took her hand and laid it against his cheek in the time-honored gesture of love and deep respect, then turned his head to kiss her palm. She slipped off the chair and into his arms. Tonight, her tears were sweet and they had to reheat dinner by the time they got around to it. 


	9. Chapter Eight: Snatch

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Eight ~  
  
She had been right; this job was _great_!   
  
Elena set down the box of pamphlets and dusted her hands with a satisfactory air. She was startled to see people heading off for home; a glance at her watch showed that the day had flown by. It was quitting time already.  
  
Elena trotted over to where three people were waiting for Jayne's attention. When her turn came, she reported, "Stalls 23 through 33 are all set up. We might want to keep on eye on Number 28. They've brought a _lot_ of heavy-duty equipment and fancy display lighting with them. We got them an extension cable with additional power outlets, but they might still overload the system."  
  
Jayne scribbled notes along the margin and looked up at her with a smile when she was done. "Good. Thank you, Elena. Enjoy your weekend. I'll see you on Monday."  
  
Her smile warmed Elena. Feeling ridiculously cheerful, she grabbed her stuff and waved at a couple of colleagues on her way out. Stefan was waiting at home for her; maybe they would go out dancing tonight. It was the weekend, and–  
  
"Hey, Elena."  
  
A vaguely familiar looking young man fell into step with her. She stopped, recalling him from an occasional encounter around exhibition hall. She thought she had heard someone call him Aaron.   
  
"Hi," she said.   
  
He smiled, "Great job with the porcelain doll ladies. I was sure for a moment there that one of the guys was going to break one of the exhibits and use the shards to shut them up."  
  
"Oh. Thanks." She tried to smile at his attempt at humor, but she honestly didn't find the suggestion funny. There was a moment of awkward silence.  
  
Aaron cleared his throat. "So, you're heading home? Big plans for the weekend?"   
  
"Yes. Going home. Big plans." Why did she sound so brainless? Maybe it was the way he was watching her. She knew that look despite not having it in more than a year. There was avid interest there, and a faint intensity that she knew indicated desire. He was attractive in an understated way, with even, rugged features and a deep, quiet gravity about him. At one time, she would have tossed her hair back and smiled up at him. But now...  
  
"Well, I'd better go. My boyfriend's waiting for me," she said, shifting from one foot to the other.   
  
"Oh... uh–"  
  
"You have a good weekend! Bye now!" She turned away.  
  
"Wait!" He grabbed her arm. ::What the–:: She couldn't shake off his grip. "Stop that," he growled when she struggled.   
  
When she saw that he was dragging her towards an alley, her thrashing became desperate. "Don't, you'll hurt yourself."  
  
They were _in_ the alley. She opened her mouth to scream but he pushed her against the wall and clamped a hand over her face just before a cry could escape. She began hyperventilating.  
  
::This _cannot_ be happening.::  
  
"Now, listen to me; you're not safe anymore. People have been watching you. We have to take you away where we can protect you."  
  
She stared at him over the top of his hand. Most of what he said did not register and what little that did made her think he was completely insane.  
  
He shook her slightly. "Milady Elena, you have to listen: you're in danger."  
  
::What?–::   
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake–" an exasperated voice sounded further down the alley. There was no warning. One moment she was staring at Aaron, the next, there was a crack of pain and she blacked out.   
  
***  
  
Crystal Baron stood on the roof of the four-story building, watched the vampires prowl about the vicinity of exhibition center. Eventually, they regrouped and conferred. Crystal guessed by their body language that they were annoyed – and afraid.  
  
::Yeah, if I had a boss that was ruthless and homicidal and I had to report that I'd messed up, I'd be scared too.::  
  
The evening breeze was pulling locks of her hair out of its knot. It had gotten to the point where she might as well take the whole thing down.  
  
Impulsively, she pulled the chopstick-like hair ornament off and shook out her wild auburn hair. ::Well, where's the fun of being a vampire hunter if you can't be a little dramatic at times?:: she asked rhetorically.   
  
Bending, she picked up the crossbow, swapped the bolt for the chopstick and attached a note to the pointy tip. Taking a one-kneed stance, she raised the crossbow, aimed and pulled the trigger.  
  
Her hair-tie buried itself halfway through an unfortunate vampire's shoulder, riveting her little Post-It in plain sight. Crystal felt like laughing out loud as she got to her feet. A couple of vamps looked up quickly the way the projectile had come. Even with her 'inferior' human eyes, she could see their bared fangs from four floors up.  
  
She stood unmoving, an insolent smile on her face, with only her hair stirring in the wind. She waited until they had all read the note and turned to glare at her. Then she was gone.   
  
***  
  
_He couldn't find her._ Stefan was frantic.  
  
She had told him that she would be home at about six. At eight, he could wait no longer and had gone to look for her at the convention hall. By then, the charity show was in full swing. Stefan stood by an emergency exit to avoid being trampled and scanned mind after mind, looking for the familiar, bright glow. _Nothing._ He tried again; still no luck.  
  
He had to get away from the press of so many minds. Stefan fought his way out of the building, went around the back and climbed the fire escape. Up on the roof, he cast his mind through the city. _She had disappeared._  
  
There was no trace of her – nothing he could detect. She couldn't have shielded from him, even if she tried. And why would she? Yesterday, perhaps. But after last night?  
  
No, she wasn't hiding from him. That left the possibilities that she was _being hidden_ from him or–  
  
Stefan wrenched his thought away from that path. He would have known if she... surely, he would have felt something.  
  
He called Bonnie – tracked her down to where she was visiting her cousin – and begged her to do a scrying spell. He would have gone to her in person if he thought it would do any good, except that he dare not leave Seattle just in case Elena came back. Bonnie had called him back, trying not to sound frightened; she couldn't find Elena either. She named the two possibilities Stefan had already thought of, "She might be under some heavy shields that I can't scry through or..."  
  
Yes: Or.  
  
::Say it, Stefan. Or...she might be dead.::  
  
He refused to acknowledge the thought; it was incomprehensible for them to have come all this way, only to have it end with a mugger's bloody blade or a rapist sadistic pleasure.  
  
And besides, if it had been either of these, _he would have found her_. Some trace, some sign. But there were none. Stefan pushed aside suggestions from the tormenting inner voice about the more sinister reasons for people disappearing.   
  
He thanked Bonnie, promised to let her know if there was any news and hung up. There was nothing to do but wait and keep searching. And hope. 


	10. Chapter Nine: A Very Domestic Scene

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Notes: And here we see Tristan, whom some of you might remember from the previous version of Part 4. (In case you missed the note, Part 4 underwent some changes - Stefan did not encounter Tristan, but Leon - whom you will also see in this update.) On an aside, I've changed the format so that italics are denoted _thus_ instead of *so*.  
  
  
~ Nine ~  
  
"Tristan D'Angelo, you insufferable, utter _idiot_!"  
  
The front door slammed with enough force to cause a minor rain of dust from the ceiling of the house. Tristan rolled his eyes as the speaker marched into the living area furiously.  
  
"You wooden _blockhead_! You boneless, bloodsucking _nitwit_!"   
  
He turned away from the case holding his weapons. "What is it this time?" he asked exasperatedly before actually catching a good look at her. "_What the–_ " he half-shouted.  
  
"Some scumbags tried to jump me," the petite girl cut in petulantly before he could say things she wouldn't approve of. She folded arms that bore recent scratches that were rapidly healing. Her black hair, with its feathery-layered locks and random dark pink streaks, fell about her shoulders and face, disheveled. Her clothes were torn and begrimed. And one small foot tapped on the carpet dangerously.  
  
The silence stretched as she glared at him and he waited for her to say something.  
  
"What?" he protested. "This is all your fault–" she said accusingly.  
  
"Excuse me, but how is your getting attacked because you dress like a –" her shriek of outrage drowned him out "– my fault again?"  
  
She stamped her foot in frustration. "You moron. You don't _get_ it; if you had _met_ me at five like you were _suppose_ to, I wouldn't have been walking through that side of town alone at this hour, now would I?"  
  
"And you couldn't take those lowlifes out because..." interjected an unexpected voice. Aodhan Makoe tilted his head back over the arm of the chair to look at them, legs draped over the other arm. Tristan thought he actually looked amused.  
  
"Hello? There were five of them?" she said, undaunted. But then, Samar was rarely intimidated, even by the usually cold and reserved Makoe.  
  
One dark eyebrow moved. "So?"  
  
After that, Samar ignored Tristan, turning her abuse to this new tormenter. Which, Tristan realized, was what Makoe had intended with the little interjection.  
  
Tristan was vaguely impressed; he didn't think _he_ would dare say the things Samar was uttering to the dark-haired vampire. He was not terribly worried about her safety; she had proven able to take care of herself in the past twenty years or so since they had been changed. But vampire or no, she was still his baby sister and he felt some responsibility for her.  
  
When she stormed off to her room, he finished what he had been doing to give her a chance to calm down, then followed her. Tapping on the door, he found her staring at herself in the mirror, face propped up in her fists.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes." She didn't sound okay and he said so.  
  
"Oh, go _away_, Tristan." He opened his mouth to retort but something caught his eye. He nodded and did as she told him.  
  
A couple of minutes later, Leon wandered into Samar's room. "Hey," he said placidly. She eyed him warily in the mirror, but he only sat on the carpet and leaned against the bed comfortably.  
  
Unwillingly, her mouth twitched. 'Why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lie down?' was his philosophy in life, although he drew the line at clambering onto her bed. He was three hundred and some years old and still had strange sense of propriety.   
  
He tipped his head back, much as Aodhan had done with the chair and closed his eyes. They were slightly protuberant and when open, were usually half-lidded, giving him a sleepy expression. His gaunt, cadaverous appearance was saved from being macabre by a phlegmatic air that hung about him.  
  
"Did I ever tell you about the time I sat in the box seat above the orchestra in a concert hall? I tapped the railing and all the musicians came to attention, thinking it was the conductor prompting them. I ducked out of sight before they figured out who the culprit was, of course. Took them a month to realize it happened whenever I occupied that box," he said without opening his eyes.  
  
After that, he told her anecdote after anecdote until he finally got her to laugh. Only then did he open his eyes and smile at her. "All better?"  
  
Her expression twisted wryly. She shrugged.  
  
"No lasting harm done?" She nodded a little more readily.   
  
"Good." He got to his feet and stretched.  
  
"Tristan owes me a new outfit," she muttered sourly.  
  
He bent a quelling look at her. "I'll pass the message on," he said, but he gave her another smile before leaving.  
  
In the living room, the other two were obviously waiting for him. They looked like the antithesis of each other; Tristan was only passingly handsome but radiated energy like an eager, friendly puppy. His long body moved with a sort of boneless gracelessness. Makoe's classic features showed no emotion and a waiting menace emanated from his compact form.  
  
It was an odd arrangement, theirs; three men and a teenage girl. But it worked somehow and they had a good life together.   
  
"Well?" the taller vampire asked.  
  
"You owe her a new outfit." The answer drew an exasperated eye-roll. Leon lost his humorous expression. "I don't have to tell you how dangerous times are now, Tristan. Not even vampires are safe anymore."  
  
"I take care of her," the young vampire growled.   
  
"See that you do," Leon said coolly. "And now, we have business. What's the plan?"  
  
Tristan's resentful expression melted into a large, almost friendly grin, made disturbing by the maniacal gleam in his eyes. Aodhan Makoe's freezing gray eyes regarded each with trademark dangerous stillness.   
  
"We're assembling at Emery's."   
  
Nigel Emery. Powerful enough to swat any of them like a fly, cruel, superior; he was the vampire's vampire. No one knew how old he was or where he'd come from but there was talk. Some said he had abilities that were unheard of. There was even speculation that he was one of the Old Ones. "And then we're going to the Baron place to take out the Enemy as well as a grand handful of hunters."  
  
"How are we going to get in? The hunters are human and they live there, presumably," Leon asked.   
  
"I'm leaving that to Emery. Maybe he'll just influence a bunch of weak-willed hunters to welcome us in."   
  
Leon wasn't so sure; the hunters involved in this would not be novices. But he kept his opinion to himself.  
  
"Let's go," Makoe said, speaking for the first time. They each hefted a case of weapons and left quietly. 


	11. Chapter Ten: Trap

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
~ Ten ~  
  
When Elena came to, she was propped up in an armchair. The room they had put her in was a modest size, with a double bed, a heavy wooden dresser, built-in wardrobe and the comfortable armchair beside a small table in front of the window. The door was, unsurprisingly, locked. There was no telephone, although she found the telephone jack behind the nightstand.  
  
With nothing else to do, she wandered into the attached bathroom. The usual hotel-type supplies were laid out; shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, towels.   
  
The view from the window offered no clues to where she was. Night had fallen and all she could see was a broad expanse of green lawn and a thick copse of trees on its fringes.   
  
::Stefan must be worried. I wonder what he's doing.:: She hugged herself, feeling momentarily chilled. The window reflected her image; dressed in the rumpled jeans and turtleneck she had worn to work, hair messed from her resistance, eyes dark and wide with fear, face pale.  
  
She moved away from the window and sat on the bed. Unbidden, the memory of the incident began replaying in her mind. That _boy_ had come up to her and kidnapped her. What had he said? She was in danger? People were watching her? Elena snorted.  
  
But, if all he was doing was kidnap or mug her, why not just hit her over the head? Why try and talk to her?  
  
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Elena jumped off the bed and took a defensive stance. The man who limped through the door was, however, disconcertingly unthreatening.   
  
His light blue eyes came to rest on her. "Ah," he said. "I was told that there was movement in this room." The door had closed behind him and Elena doubted that she would be permitted to leave. "Welcome, Elena Gilbert. Oh yes, we know who you are."  
  
The man took his time hobbling to the chair. His 'guest' got the impression that his slow movements were so that he didn't startle her. Seating himself, he fixed his gaze on her.   
  
"You're angry and scared. I can understand that. I'm sure you also have many questions. Please. Sit." He gestured to the bed. "And I will explain."  
  
Elena did not budge. "Why should I listen to you, much less believe anything you tell me?" she demanded.  
  
"I thought you might feel that way. That's why I brought in someone to vouch for me." On cue, the door opened again and familiar figure entered the room.  
  
"_Alaric?_" she breathed. The paranormal researcher stared at her penetratingly. "Hello, Elena. Meredith told me you came back," he said. This was the first time he had seen her since her death.   
  
"As I'm sure you know, Mr. Saltzman has some connections with individuals who hunt vampires. He'll be able to tell you that we – the organization here – are one of the largest groups of hunters around," the nameless man interrupted before Alaric could start asking her questions with pen and paper in hand, as he seemed about to do.   
  
Meredith's ex-boyfriend nodded in agreement. "They're some of the best. They keep very tight tabs on the going-ons in the vampire world. They probably know more than Stefan does. If they say something is happening, it's likely true; they know their stuff," he rambled, never looking away from her.  
  
The first man cleared his throat loudly. The door opened and Alaric was ushered out. He threw a last, intent look at Elena before the door shut, leaving her alone with the stranger.  
  
"Will you sit now, and hear what I have to tell you?" he asked mildly, not seeming the least offended at her skepticism.  
  
Warily keeping him in her sight, Elena backed and sat gingerly.  
  
He paused for a beat before speaking. "So. What is this all about? Quite bluntly, there's a price on your head."  
  
Shock ran through her. "What?"  
  
"Every – well, nearly every – vampire in the world is hunting you. Why?" he held up a hand to forestall her next question. He studied her as if searching for words.   
  
"There is a prophecy about a 'promised one' who will destroy the undead and reverse the evil done'. In the past year, some vampires have been found dead without any signs of struggle and others have disappeared mysteriously. They were apparently random but they started from Atlanta and moved west to San Francisco, then criss-crossed back to the Eastern Seaboard then cut across the continent again. Most recently, the occurrences have been found in Seattle."  
  
Elena followed the trail and paled. The man nodded. "The occurrences match your movements," he confirmed. "Timing and location are identical."  
  
Elena tried to wrap her mind around the information. "This is crazy! Why would they think that I'm responsible for any of this? I _live_ with a vampire! And _how_ do they think I'm doing it? I'm just an untrained, normal human girl. Not some vampire hunter. I can't kill or kidnap vampires," she protested.   
  
The man only shrugged as if to say 'who knows what they think?'  
  
"And why are you going through all this trouble to protect me?" Elena asked suspiciously. Something in all this rang false.  
  
"Maybe we want to use you as a weapon against the vampires," he said, somehow managing to sound sarcastic and mild at the same time. "But – maybe – you _have_ no power against the vampires," he put in when she opened her mouth to protest. "Whatever the case," his tone became ultra-bland. "You _are_ the focus of a large-scale vampiric effort. That makes you... perfect… bait." 


	12. Chapter Eleven: Interludes

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's note: Just so everyone's aware, I'm using the Reviews area to respond to comments. Feel free to use it to let what me (and all the other readers) know you think, what you want or simply to say you're reading this fic. =)  
  
  
~ Eleven ~   
  
The house was empty that morning. That was hardly unusual, so Samar was unconcerned. The three weapon's cases were gone too, confirming her guess that the boys had gone hunting. Hunter-hunting, that is.   
  
Bored, she turned up her stereo. She didn't need to, with vampiric hearing, but blasting music was one of the best parts of having the house to herself. Melancholic strains and angst-tinged wailing filled both floors of the house and the basement. Samar wandered through the house, letting the music rage about her like an invisible whirlwind.   
  
Her room was painted dark maroon, decorated with black and ochre-beige. Blackout curtains made things more comfortable during the day, keeping out practically all the sunlight. No posters on the wall. Her hazel eyes lighted on the closed bookcase that was her shrine and she stared for a long moment. Inside lay the few remnants of her human life; a photo album, a high school yearbook, a video tape, a stuffed toy and a sketchbook.   
  
All she had left of an imperfect, but – in hindsight – good life, filled with small, mundane worries. Close friends. Innocence. Security. Parents.   
  
_Oh, Mom... Oh, Dad..._  
  
Fear, longing and grief rose in her, a powerful, uncontrollable tidal wave. Her muscles tensed momentarily, on the brink of moving towards the bookcase. Forcefully pushing away the useless emotions, Samar flicked a lock of black hair over her shoulder in defiance of the tightness in her chest and turned away.   
  
Tristan's room was across the hall from hers, and a mess. Entertainment magazines, his electric guitar and amplifier and clothes, were everywhere. A table held his hi-fi and precariously stacked CDs and cassettes. The ceiling and walls were covered with posters of musicians, women and expensive equipment. A person wouldn't be able to spot the bed without being told where to look. More posters covered the windows semi-permanently. Becoming a vampire had not improved his housekeeping habits. The only difference was that, back when he was still human, there would have been stray dishes holding crumbs on the table or bed or floor. Samar was thankful that he no longer ate _food_.   
  
Despite that reassurance, Samar decided against venturing into that hazard area; there may be no rodents and other pests nesting in there but the tower of CDs looked ready to collapse on hapless trespassers, burying them alive.   
  
She tried the knob of Makoe's room, but it was, as usual, locked. The antisocial, paranoid icebox never left it open when he wasn't in the house. Not that there was anything worth taking in there, Samar sniffed. All _his_ expensive toys were in the garage, after all.  
  
Leon's room faced north and was lighted, but not glaring in the late morning. Samar sat at his table and poked at his odds and ends. Finding nothing of particular interest, she flopped on his bed – _she_ had no qualms about getting on _his_ bed – and propping her head in one hand, ran a finger along the spines of the books in the shelf above his headboard.   
  
The Art of War. To Kill A Mockingbird. Animal Farm. The Screwtape Letters. A Tale of Two Cities. Of Mice and Men. Anna Karenina. The Good Earth. Dull, dull, dull.  
  
The kitchen, unused, barring the occasional ice-cream binge or drinking spree, was bare and equally uninteresting. Arms crossed, Samar stared off into space. The music had stopped and the silence hung heavily in the air.  
  
"I'm bored!" she announced suddenly, breaking the stillness.   
  
She paused a moment, as if expecting a reply. When none came, she sashayed deliberately back into the living area. Her death-glare swept the room belligerently. A glint of metal caught her eye; she picked it up and dangled Big Bro's car keys between thumb and forefinger.   
  
"Ah…" her soft, satisfied exclamation floated through the quiet and a devilish smile crossed her face.   
  
***  
  
Crystal found Jerrick in the library, in conference with yet another team of vampire hunters. She heard snatches of murmured conversation and deduced that he was explaining how a particular formation was to work. It was an odd scene; eight variously athletic individuals listening to a crippled, mild man explain attack strategy.   
  
She leaned against the threshold, observing how Jerrick held and controlled the aggressive, restless hunters. Her mind absently ran through the preparations for the coming conflict. The noncombatants and most of the contents of the mansion were safely away. The house rang with sounds of hunters making ready to fight. Traps were set, blinds put in place, equipment checked and everyone watched their step to avoid blundering into snares or hunters' spontaneous sparring bouts. These had resulted in more destruction than Crystal cared to dwell on.  
  
The meeting ended and the hunters filed out, talking among themselves. They acknowledged her in one way or another as they passed. When they had all left, Crystal crossed the room and threw herself into the chair opposite Jerrick, whose head was now bent over a large, ancient tome. In one hand, he idly flipped a pen.   
  
Rather than wait for him to give her his attention, she declared: "You've spoken to our 'guest'."  
  
"I have." He didn't take his eyes from the page and the spinning of the pen never faltered. She tapped a booted foot, indicating impatience.   
  
"Jerrick," she said reprovingly at last. He looked up. "Yes?" he asked mildly.   
  
"How much does she know?"  
  
"How much do _you_ know?" Jerrick countered. There was a pregnant pause before he said, "She's not ready."  
  
"So you told her nothing?"  
  
"Did I say that? No, I had to give her some kind of explanation; we need her cooperation, even if it's just petrified pacifism. Besides, she would not have been satisfied without some details."   
  
"So, what lies did you feed her?" Crystal asked, scornfully.   
  
The pale blue eyes returned to the book. "Whatever was necessary."   
  
She made an indelicate noise at the vague answer and stood up, exasperated.   
  
"I gave her the bare bones of the story. The public one, that is," he relented enough to say. "Not that it really matters; we only need to hold her for another day or so." Jerrick went on dismissively.  
  
Crystal started pacing the length of the room with barely leashed energy. "What about Stefan Salvatore? The guards told me she asked for him."  
  
"Let's wait until after tomorrow. I think she might have changed her mind by then."  
  
***  
  
He was running out of ideas.   
  
Unable to find her with his mind, Stefan had done everything people did to find missing individuals. He had checked the hospitals, spoken to her work colleagues, checked shelter after shelter. Now, as evening shadows slanted across sidewalks, he roamed the streets and alleys. It had been almost a day.   
  
Only a day, he told himself. He couldn't give up hope so quickly. ::But where could she be?::  
  
His mind returned to gnaw at the two possibilities; dead or hidden from him. Not wanting to dwell on the former, he turned his attention to the second option. Who would take her and hide her from him? For a mad moment, he thought of his brother. But Damon had never succeeded in dominating Elena. Then again, he had never used his full strength, preferring to toy with her and manipulate her and her friends with his charm and power.  
  
Would Damon use mind-control to bend Elena to his will? Had he loved her or merely wanted her, for her beauty and spirit, or simply to deprive Stefan of her? Yes, he was going crazy. But–  
  
What if it was true?  
  
::Elena!:: Not for the first time, he threw all his fear and desperation into the mental shout, sheer emotion lending power to his telepathy. The mocking voice inside commented that he was probably giving nearby psychics a headache. He ignored it, listening attentively for a response, however faint.   
  
Nothing. Stefan wandered aimlessly, not caring where he was going. He found himself walking along the waterfront. The sunset was heartbreakingly romantic.   
  
Stefan felt the corners of his mouth pulling downward. He tried to turn his attention to something else but it seemed that no matter where he looked, his eyes came to rest on couples in love. Strolling by, arm in arm or sitting on benches, feeding each other finger food. Old and young.  
  
He watched one silver-haired pair, sitting together, wordlessly enjoying each other's company. After a while, the man got ponderously to his feet and extended a hand to help his spouse up. Hand-in-hand, they walked slowly away.   
  
What he wouldn't give, Stefan thought bitterly, then cut the thought short. Savagely, he forced himself to think of something else. The ache in his jaw was a welcome distraction this evening. Stefan headed for a grove of trees that ringed a lake where wild waterfowl habitually came to rest at dusk.   
  
***  
  
Oh, this was going to be _good_!  
  
Tristan's hazel eyes ran over the scene with delight; vampires, vampires and more vampires arming themselves. Some carried big, nasty blades and other medieval arms, but most were unloading cold metal – guns of all shape and variety caught and reflected the sunlight, creating thousands of miniature moving spotlights against the side of the dark house.   
  
Hunters were constrained to wooden weapons, but vampires could be creative – so many things killed fragile humans so effectively. A disarmingly friendly smile flashed across Tristan's face.   
  
He and his two hunt-mates had arrived late last night and settled down in an unobtrusive corner after informing Emery's second of their presence and identities. They had watched as notorious vampires came forward to join the hunt. They observed the moment of tension that came whenever one pair of rivals came face to face, then passed each other unmolested, bound by the courtesy decreed by Emery within his company. No one wanted to be the object lesson for the Dark One to show how strictly he enforced his rules.   
  
And so, a growing number of bloodthirsty, short-tempered, vicious vampires prowled Nigel Emery's estate, took intelligence of the hunters' forces and layout when it was available, and awaited the call to attack.  
  
This was going to be _so good_!  
  
***  
  
::Gather the horde.::  
  
A yellow Post-It sat on the glossy surface of a writing desk, crumpled in anger and blatant against the dark wood. Beside it lay a dirk, a hint of violence, a wordless, explicit threat.  
  
He had his back resolutely turned away from his writing desk and was staring out the window. Even as he watched, dark shadows slunk out of the night and gravitated to his lair.  
  
For two nights and two days now, vampires had been arriving, leaving only to return with more of their brethren. Their numbers had swelled tenfold in that time. Unfortunately, hunters had been seen massing at the Enemy's headquarters as well.  
  
He flung back his head in silent challenge. No matter; they were just a band of humans. Let them do their worst. What did he have to fear, after all?   
  
He could not die.   
  
He finished his command. ::Tonight, we take the hunters' stronghold.:: 


	13. Chapter Twelve: Fight

Summary: Elena's back, but it's not _quite_ 'happily ever after': While Stefan agonizes silently that she's mortal again, a new Power stirs that threatens all vampires.  
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Note: Rating's upped to PG13 for violence. Tension's mounting. Please let me know how it's going!  
  
  
~ Twelve ~  
  
It was the eve of the Solstice.   
  
Tomorrow, she would have marked a full year since her return. Not long ago, she and Stefan had looked forward to celebrating that occasion, and now…   
  
::Oh, Stefan, what am I going to do?:: she asked hopelessly. ::Will I even survive tonight? Will I ever see you again? Where are you? Why haven't you come for me?::   
  
The past two days had worn her down. Nightmares kept her awake. Tired, uncertain and anxious, her imagination ran wild. Loneliness and fear eroded her spirit; boredom supplied ample time to brood.   
  
After that initial conversation with the man, whose name she later found out was Jerrick Edom, she had been confined to her room. Anything she requested, with the exception of one Stefan Salvatore, was delivered impersonally.   
  
The only other human contact she had had was with the frighteningly competent Crystal Baron, whose voice she recognized as the exasperated one in the alley. Crystal had said that during the attack, which would come this evening, she would be guarding Elena. That was all. No other details, no reassurances.   
  
Even in her isolation, Elena realized that a crowd was building outside her door. She had seen a sizable group of fighters out in the lawn the day before, and an even larger group today. The hunters were gathering to make war.  
  
With nothing else to do for two days, Elena had requested pen and paper and had set out recording her reflections and goodbyes.  
  
Now, as the sun set and the grandfather clock downstairs struck seven, a neat row of letters clearly marked with names of intended recipients lined her dresser, to be delivered to the various individuals if... if she could not give it to them in person.  
  
Elena was suddenly aware of the stillness in the air. She pressed her ear to the door but could not detect any sound. This was a far cry from the commotion generated by an ever-growing population of aggressive, individualistic hunters packed into a comparatively small estate.  
  
Suddenly the door opened and Elena nearly fell through. Crystal regarded her in bemusement briefly, then said two weighted words: "It's time."  
  
There was nothing else for Elena to do but trail her to where they would make their stand.  
  
***  
  
The vampires stormed the slayers' mansion, through the traps and blinds that had been set up. These took their toll but the multitude of attackers ran over the remains of friend and foe alike, intent on one goal; the Enemy.  
  
The moles had done their work. Renegade hunters invited vampire after vampire past the threshold of this human dwelling.  
  
He strode among the horde, killing one hunter after another with clean sweeps of his falchion. He made it look easy, effortless.   
  
::They may be many, but these hunters were never meant to fight together. They get in each other's way more often than not,:: he commented contemptuously to his second. A vampire to his right spasmed, then promptly turned into a pile of dust. He, in turn, reached out and killed the slayer responsible.   
  
They fought through one room after another, up one floor, down to the basement. No sign of the Enemy. ::This is getting tiresome,:: he snarled. He grabbed the next hunter he came across. Sinking his fangs into the woman's neck, he stripped the information he wanted from her mind brutally.  
  
::Hm...refreshing. Pity we haven't time to drink of our kills; all this Power going to waste:: He pushed the limp body away without a second glance; he'd found out what he wanted to know. ::They are in the attic.::  
  
***  
  
::Man, this place is trashed.::  
  
Tristan's comment rang in Aodhan Makoe's mind. He was in the next room, which might have been the AV room, if the soundproofing was any indication. Leon was at the end of the house, in the kitchen and no doubt, doing his lunatic counting. Makoe did not bother to respond to the tall, blond vampire. He eyed the muscular slayer in front of him coldly. The human grinned at him, much as Tristan might, and feinted. Makoe let him tire himself out with fancy style and complicated patterns, then calmly reached out, turned the spear the man was wielding towards him by pure force and rammed it into his belly.  
  
His next opponent was a little more of a challenge. A pixie-like girl, but intense and fast. Makoe left her incapacitated with broken bones and furious but otherwise all right. Dispassionate grey eyes bore into hers, implanting mental compulsions until her eyelids drooped and she slumped senseless onto the floor. He paused, then, to take in the scene around him.  
  
Potted red palms – perhaps as old as twenty years – lay torn and trampled on the floor. The soil from the pots was ground underfoot and into the thick, rich carpets. Furniture was overturned or smashed, glass shattered; shards and splintered pieces were sometimes used as impromptu weapons.   
  
Blood stained the walls, splattered the upholstery, the combatants. Severed limbs and disemboweled bodies lay scattered like discarded toys all through the Baron mansion. Most of these were humans, with an occasional new vampire. A curtain had been ripped off its railing and used as a makeshift shroud for one body.   
  
Ash and dust hung thick in the air, all that was left of the numerous vampires who had met the pointy end of the stake. Makoe tried not to think too hard about what he was inhaling.  
  
Instead, he kept an eye out for Nigel Emery; where he went, things were bound to happen. Peripherally, Makoe saw him climb the stairs with one of his close followers. The way they walked was almost leisurely, Makoe noted. Emery appeared heedless of his own safety.  
  
::Upstairs,:: he said shortly to the other two and started to trail the lead vampire. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Solstice

**Disclaimers**: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.

**Notes:**  
~ Chapter ~  
::_Thoughts__ or telepathy_::

**Author's Note: **PG13 for violence. Don't forget to check out the Reviews section! 

**Additional Note: **The chapter underwent a slight bit of reformatting based on some feedback. I hope you find this arrangement more pleasing, Eleia! 

**Dedication:** I'd like to send out heartfelt thanks to three wonderful ladies. This chapter is for you! To Juliana, ever the first to read my crazy ideas, always ready with a calm reassurance, or insightful question. To Karen, who cheers me on from across the vast water and simply, seriously, sincerely tells me to keep writing. And to Elisabeth Carrey*, for faithful and often surprising reviews, and for 'balance'. =)

* For those of you who do not know Elisabeth, her marvelous VD fic Always can be found on Twilight Tales (www.ttales.net).

~ Thirteen ~ 

They were in the attic. Alone, the fools. 

The hunter, the one who had signed the Post-It, was guarding the Enemy. They were an incongruous sight; two striking young women, one blond, the other redheaded. They looked more decorative than threatening. 

But then, appearances were so misleading.

The redhead spoke up, taking a step forward and raising a blade made of laminated wood. "Nigel Emery." The pronouncement was acknowledgement and challenge all in one.

Ah, yes. That was what humans were calling him these days. Nigel Emery. Dark Power. He rather enjoyed the conceit of it.

"Crystal Baron," he returned. His voice was a deep growl and strangely artificial, like a synthesized sound effect. "You sent a challenge. I answered." 

"And so good of you to," the human purred. The air whistled as she flipped her sword up to guard position. "Shall we begin?"

And she rushed him. A stupid tactic to take when one's opponent was larger and stronger than one but the human made up for it with sheer ferocity. He shifted position slightly and brought his blade up to parry the blow. The wooden blade sounded dully against his metal one.

They each backed away two steps and began to circle each other. By silent signal, they met again to exchange a flurry of sword strokes then disengaged. He took her measure, as the fight progressed, but had a feeling she was not observing him as keenly. 

The one she called Nigel had met his share of arrogant humans in his time, but this one was unique in that she was nearly as good as she believed herself to be. Her style reflected her nature: headstrong and brutally direct. She knew the art of swordplay, no doubt, but she did not have as strong a grasp of the psychology of it. In her mind, the focus was on her own abilities rather than her adversary's skill and every attack was meant to defeat.

He, on the other hand, had learned long ago to gauge each opponent carefully, taking note of both strengths and weaknesses. He had seen too many skilled fighters brought down by their overconfidence to let his guard down. It was not a matter of survival but of pride. To win, he told himself, one must never let one's ego surpass one's good sense.

The laminated wood held an edge very well, as he found out when she managed to get a thrust past his guard. Blood welled up, as red as any human's, before the wound closed. A feral grin fixed on her lips. 

He repaid her with a long, deep slash in her left side. Hissing in pain, she backed off momentarily. Her face set into an obstinate look and she bent carefully to pull a knife from her boot. Her fiery green eyes clashed with his as she dared him to react to this. He simply held out his sword in invitation. Holding the second blade in guard position before her, she reentered the fray. 

Slash and parry, feint and thrust, upstroke and down, back and forth, they fell into the hypnotic rhythm of the dance of steel. Each scored nicks and cuts on the other's arms, legs, bodies, but the hunter was tiring and her wounds did not heal instantaneously. Drops of blood and sweat flew when she moved. Pain slowed her down.

He had been enjoying himself but was quickly becoming bored. 

The next time she lunged, he sidestepped and moved behind her. The falchion carved a bright arch and then the rich red hair fell onto the floor. She whirled to face him. Her eyes dropped to the mass of hair then rose to his face furiously. Her lips drew back in a snarl.

She attacked, but he was changing the rules of the game. Her swipes did not find him; he was too fast. He bashed her with the flat of his blade and felt the fragile bones in her hands shatter. First one, then another weapon slipped from her fingers. 

In a rage, the fool human actually swung at him with her arm. He caught her hand and, crushing the already fragmented bones, broke her forearm. The twin bones there snapped like twigs and she screamed once, sharp and short.

She turned, trying to keep him in her sights but wasn't quick enough. Without warning, he stood behind her. Grabbing a handful of her shorn hair, he jerked her head back.

"I win," he said before he simultaneously plunged his blade into her body and dug his teeth into her bared neck. When he released her, she slid off the sword and onto the bare wooden floor, lying in a pool of her own blood.

He raised his blade in mock salute and turned his attention elsewhere. To the Enemy, who was staring at her companion with wide blue eyes.

"And now, my dear, for you," he advanced on her, throwing aside the falchion. He wouldn't need it. He stalked her step for step as she backed away. She didn't whimper or cry out but he could sense the terror emanating from her. 

"So you are the human who will bring an end to vampires. I wonder if you taste any different from other humans? I look forward to finding out." He stood over her and paused, enjoying the way she all but cowered in his shadow.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock began to toll the midnight hour.

Solstice.

The blonde, who had looked terrified, straightened at the sound. A strange look crossed her face, slightly blank, but with dawning recognition. And, disturbingly, serene competence. She leaned forward and said clearly: "_Naii__ sempoe e'ya _...Kier Achmed." I know you… Kier Achmed.

That shocked him; first, that she knew his Name. No earthly being – save the others of his kind – should be able to Name him. And secondly, that she spoke in the language of his brethren.

She reached over and enfolded him in her arms; that was the third – and final – shock. 

He felt his being unravel, dissolve. His consciousness was like a whirlpool that swirled into oblivion before caving in on itself. 

In the next instant, Kier Achmed – Death's dark brother, one of the seven, Old One, immortal – ceased to exist.

* * *

"And now, my dear, for you."

Elena backed away a step. The blooded sword landed with a clatter on the floor. 

"So you are the human who will bring an end to vampires. I wonder if you taste any different from other humans?"

All too quickly, she met with the wall. A furious part of her mind cursed for idiotically backing herself into a corner, but the larger part of her attention was frozen, watching the other continue to advance.

Her heart sank and hopelessness clogged her throat. She emptied herself, released her consciousness of this body, sent her awareness out, trying desperately to reach that one beloved presence. ::_Stefan__... goodbye_...:: 

"I look forward to finding out," the resonant voice rumbled. She stared at him, uncomprehending. 

::_I__ love you..._::

Just then, the clock struck midnight.

_One.._. 

Something swelled within her, filing her. She felt calm and drew herself up, no longer afraid. 

_Two.._. 

Something... something was telling her what to do... showing her... _him_. "_Naii__ sempoe e'ya_ ...Kier Achmed." The words flowed out of her mouth as naturally as her own name. 

_Three.._. 

Without thinking about it, she reached out and pulled him into her embrace. The feeling inside her grew and poured into him everywhere they came into contact. She felt it swirl there, in him, seeming to take him in. 

_Four.._. 

The body she held lost substance. All the Power in him and that _was_ him – from the lives he had taken and his centuries of existence – spun invisibly in her grasp. At first, it was almost pleasurable. It flowed into her, filling a space she hadn't realized was echoingly, achingly hollow. She felt rejuvenated. Strong. But when she was filled to bursting, the maelstrom still raged, undiminished. It hurt… 

_Five..._

The Power struck out at her like a live thing; sharp needles of pain, and phantom, excruciating lacerations along her skin, or dull, debilitating aches deep in her bones. It strained against her hold, demanding to be unleashed. She could not control it...

_Six..._

The world tore asunder. A frigid wind howled, the earth trembled insistently. Rain fell but strangely did not quench the fires that sprang up. Lightning danced across the sky, thunder growled menacingly.

_Seven..._

Elena stood frozen in the midst of it all; head flung back, agony twisting her face. 

_Eight..._

The contents of the attic rattled and were flung about in the chaos. 

_Nine..._

It was the Solstice. She half-glimpsed something – reached for it–

_Ten..._

Elena caught the opening in the Veil, wrenched it open– "Gilbert means... "

_Eleven..._

A promise.

_Twelve..._

Lapis lazuli eyes opened wide.

_I remember now._

Power streamed through the gap into the spirit realm. Slowly, slowly, the wind died down, earth stilled, the rain slowed to a drizzle and the fire fizzled out. The skies cleared up; lightning ceased and thunder retreated. The attic settled down into a mess. 

Elena let the opening slip from her hold, barely noticing it close seamlessly. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Warm fingers encircled her arms, the grip firm but not painful. She knew, without looking, who it was. She needed time right then and did not bother to acknowledge him right away. Nor did he rush her, merely continuing to lend his presence and silent support. 

Eventually, she peered up at him. Locks of golden hair straggled into her face, but she did not notice them. There was horror in her lapis eyes. She needed affirmation of what she now knew.

"What am I?" she demanded in a whisper. Jerrick's grip never faltered and his face was serene, calm.

"A promise, Elena. You are a promise. To nature. To me."

Author's Note: So. What do you think?


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Memory

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Notes: See Reviews section.   
  
  
~ Fourteen ~  
  
A young man who had a quiet air about him wandered from room to room. He and the other non-combatants were doing preliminary checks, taking stock, before beginning to arduous work of cleaning up.  
  
The workers checked body after body for signs of life. The wounded were taken to a room that had been set up as a temporary infirmary. There, Jerrick and his witches and mystics were doing what they could.   
  
One major casualty was Crystal Baron herself. Jerrick had worked for half an hour to revive her. She was still in bad shape, swathed practically from head to toe with gauze, and muzzy. And very, very mad.  
  
If Nigel Emery had still been among the living, she would have demanded a rematch.  
  
The young man moved to the upper floors. The Baron mansion had once been beautiful; if vampires accumulated wealth in their long lives – by whatever means – vampire hunters claimed their fortunes as spoils. And vampire-hunting had been going on in the Baron family for many generations.  
  
Crystal's home would be beautiful again, he was sure.  
  
He poked his head into the attic to evaluate the situation there. A girl was sitting on the floor, head resting beneath the windowsill. Long, silky blond hair fell in a wild mess about her shoulders. The man's eyes widened as he identified her.  
  
"Milady Elena?"   
  
She turned her head to him. When she was silent, he thought she still did not remember him. They had all been told that she would not recognize them but he had hoped that after tonight…  
  
"I know you," she said softly. "Not Aaron... Eiran."  
  
He nodded, a lump in his throat. _She was so beautiful._ She had changed tonight; no longer an ordinary pretty girl, there was a faint glow about her now. She looked like she had the first time he had seen her.  
  
"I ... Turned you."   
  
::If that's what you call it.:: He nodded again.   
  
She turned her head away and her hair hid her face. "You wanted it. You're not sorry?"  
  
"No. I'm not," he answered softly.  
  
"There were others. Do they regret?" she said. Her words came out faint, as if she were exhausted or in a faraway place.  
  
"I don't think so, milady."  
  
"How did you get here?" Eiran paused to figure out what she was asking. "Jerrick approached me not long after I was...Turned. He told me that he was looking for you, to protect you from the vampire lords. Of course I joined him."  
  
A short silence. "Tell me about Jerrick."  
  
"He's a powerful witch, I suppose. He's been badly wounded by something in the past, which is why the limp; you should see the rest of his scars. He knows things. Crystal relies on his advice. He's the one who found you, milady. And he warned us that the vampires were about to take you."  
  
"Why do you call me that?"  
  
The question caught him off guard. "It is a title of respect. We – those of us have are Turned – we've been referring to you as that for a while now," he answered finally. "You gave us a second chance, Elena. You changed our lives, saved our sanity. And for that, we hold you in deepest regard."  
  
Her silence was somehow resistant but she couldn't seem bring herself to speak. After a few moments of quiet, he cupped her elbow and urged her to stand by main force. "Come on, milady. It's been a long day. Let me find you a bed. Things will be better in the morning after some sleep. You'll see."  
  
***  
  
Feet pounded on hard pavement.   
  
::Stop!:: Telepathy had the advantage of not sounding breathless, and Makoe was slightly out of breath, after having run helter-skelter from the chaos in the Baron mansion. Leon's eyes were fully open for once. Tristan bounced on the balls of his feet, seeming completely unaffected by their mad dash.  
  
The spot where they had stopped was shadowed, between street lamps. The street was deserted, the night gone silent and peaceful again.  
  
::Man, I was sure we weren't gonna make it! Did you see what she did? She _hugged_ Nigel Emery and he evaporated! And what she said–:: Tristan said wildly.  
  
Makoe pinned him to the wall with one hand. ::D'Angelo. Calm. Down.::  
  
::Calm down? You could sense the Power there every bit as well as I could. And then the universe threatens to take a spin? And I'm suppose to calm down? Hello!?:: Tristan screamed at him, on the brink of hysteria.  
  
::Yes.:: Makoe 'zapped' him with a mild mental bolt, the vampiric equivalent to a slap. Unfortunately it only served to agitate him more _and_ make him touchy.   
  
The three of them had regrouped and followed Nigel Emery up the stairs to the topmost floor of the house in time to see him toying with the hunter. They watched as he had finished the redhead off and went for the other girl, the 'promised one' – who had seemed disappointingly _un_Powerful – and then –  
  
Madness had ensued. Tristan had shouted 'Run!'. Leon, the idiot, had stood there staring until Makoe grabbed his shirt and nearly dragged him down the first flight of stair backwards. After that, he had run as hard as the other two.  
  
Tristan and Makoe faced each other squarely. Tristan looked about to channel his nervous energy into a swing at Aodhan when Leon recovered enough to speak.  
  
::I know her.::  
  
That got the other two's attention. ::What?:: they both asked. The effect of a telepathic unison was strange.   
  
All three shook their heads to get rid of the odd resonance, then Leon explained. ::That girl – the blonde. I've seen her before. She's Stefan Salvatore's girlfriend.::  
  
  
Author's Notes: Reviews are much, much cherished! =) 


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Morning

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Notes: I've put up a summary of the events in the Vampire Diaries, so all subsequent chapters are bumped down one number in the Fanfiction.net count. Chapter numbering remains the same, though i.e. this is still Chapter 15.   
  
  
~ Fifteen ~  
  
So they thought he was a witch.  
  
That was Elena's first thought when her eyes opened the next morning. Well, yes. And she would have believed it had she not recognized what he was last night. It was a clever subterfuge, she conceded; hide power by putting it into a different category, saying it was from a different source.  
  
He frightened her; how had he ended up in such a state? And what was she suppose to do with him?   
  
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, shaking her head a little, as if the gesture would make all the pieces of her life fall into place.   
  
Eiran was right, she decided. Sleep _did_ make all the difference. She felt calmer now, more centered, her consciousness having had time to assimilate memories and knowledge that had been walled off for a year.  
  
Some of it was unnerving and she was careful not to look too closely at those. But other things simply made sense now. Elena understood why she had fallen ill so often in the past year; each time she Turned someone, her body paid a price. And last night, she had taken some of the Old One's to recover what had been used up.  
  
But then, the rest of the Power had gone rogue, with no outlet; raw force like a wave of pent-up, dark emotions had risen – pain/hate/death. If it weren't for the Solstice...  
  
Elena shuddered and turned her mind elsewhere. Absently she stood and went through her morning routine. Feeling refreshed and more ready to face the day, she looked about the familiar room that had been her prison for the past two days. Like the rest of the house, it had been emptied in preparation for the battle and likely sustained some burn marks and unsightly holes in the plaster. It looked the same, however, the Turned having made it top priority to put Elena's room back in order.   
  
Elena wondered if her captive status still remained as she turned to the door. A polite knock sounded just as her hand settled on the brass knob.   
  
Eiran stood alone in the hallway patiently. No guards. Or was Eiran the guard? "Good morning. I came to see if there was anything you'd like. Breakfast, perhaps?" he said.  
  
Elena's stomach growled in response, eliciting a startled smile from her. "Yes, please," she replied quickly before her stomach could answer for her. He returned a small, almost shy smile and gestured for her to precede him.   
  
They went down the hall, down a broad, majestic spiral stairway. Bright sunlight lanced through tall windows, turning the marble underfoot an incandescent white. The air was filled with sounds of industry; hammering, shouting, the purr of machinery. Eiran stepped forward when they reached the ground floor and led her through the flow of people hurrying about on various tasks. They passed teams of repairmen replacing glass panes, restoring wiring, patching holes in walls, relaying carpets.   
  
A thought stabbed through her, rooting her in place momentarily. ::This is pointless. They shouldn't be doing this.:: She knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that the beautiful house would see many more battles before this was finished. It would be razed to the ground.   
  
The memories she had so carefully ignored were beginning to crowd her, pushing at her consciousness. A touch on her elbow brought her back to herself. Eiran was looking at her with concern and faint puzzlement. She forced a quick and – she hoped – reassuring smile and moved forward.   
  
The back of the house was quieter, away from the frenetic activity. Through one door, Elena glimpsed rows of cots holding injured people. She felt a pang, but averted her eyes. They would all be human in that room. No one needed her help.   
  
They arrived at the kitchen, finally. A large breakfast was laid out, buffet-style, on one counter. The kitchen was deserted, however. "Everyone else has already eaten and gone back to work," Eiran explained as they filled their plates, in answer to her question. "I decided to wait for you."  
  
Elena sat down at the table, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She stared down at her plate for a long moment before Eiran noticed.  
  
"Milady?"  
  
Her shoulders hunched. "Don't call me that," she said, her soft tone somehow lending force to the words.   
  
A pause. "Elena," he tried again. "What's wrong?"  
  
::What's _wrong_?:: Instead of laughing hysterically, which had been her first reaction, she organized her thoughts. Even to herself, everything either sounded stupid or melodramatic. Finally, she settled on, "All these things happening, all this work done," she waved at hand to indicate the restoration, the huge breakfast, the sickroom, "And I just slept the morning away. I'm feeling a little guilty is all."   
  
He looked so incredulous that she had to laugh, but it died quickly. She shook her head to indicate that they should drop the matter. They ate in silence, Elena lost in thought. "Tell me about... everything! Last night, this entire ...thing." ::War? Crusade?::  
  
Eiran seemed to understand, despite her disjointed questioning. "Last night, vampires attacked the mansion. The hunters were ready for them, of course. Even then, they lost about a third of their number with as many injured."  
  
"Crystal Baron!" Elena exclaimed, suddenly remembering the fighter, lying motionless on the floor at Nigel Emery's feet. "Is she–?"   
  
"Oh, she's alive. The witches invested quite a bit of time into her. Not only is she the one that holds the hunters together, and the one that funds everything, she's also the best fighter in the group." Eiran's tone was carefully neutral. Too carefully. Elena started to speak but he was already going on.  
  
"The vampires suffered losses too, if the ash and dust left are any indication. According to one of the hunters, it looked like a stalemate until that freak storm hit. The vampires all dropped what they were doing and ran." He voice was impersonal, almost clinical, as he talked about the race he had once been part of.   
  
Elena realized, with a start, that the humans were oblivious to the other facets of last night's battle. Equally obviously, the vampires had sensed _something_ that terrified them.  
  
"The non combatants – that's most of us former vampires, the witches and the servants – were in hidden bunkers in the wood behind the property. A lot of important items – books, furniture and equipment – are stored there, too. When we were given the signal to come out, we brought what was needed with us and began the 'clean-up' work. The repair crews started arriving early this morning. By then, the more bizarre damage had been taken care of – such as the blood." He paused to check her reaction to that last, slightly graphic statement.   
  
She simply looked back at him, waiting for him to go on, digesting the information. He took a mouthful of cold orange juice and drew a breath. Elena noticed water beading and running down the side of the glass, leaving a ring on the tabletop.  
  
"Well, that was last night. As for the rest, the bigger picture..." he floundered visibly. "Mi–Elena. What do you–"  
  
"Perhaps," a quiet voice intruded from the kitchen threshold. "It would be better if I told this story, Eiran." Elena jumped, then nearly cringed when she recognized the speaker. Eiran turned his head to nod acknowledgement and greeting, finished his juice and picked up his plate. At his enquiring gesture, Elena surrendered her own plate and half-empty cup. The former vampire efficiently rinsed the flatware and utensils, loaded them into the dishwasher and then he was gone.  
  
Elena, who had remained woodenly still till then, drew a slow breath, turned to face the lame man with disarmingly tousled red hair and pale blue eyes: Jerrick.  
  
  
Author's Notes: Reviews are _greatly_ cherished! Also, with a little encouragement, I _might_ start formatting _all_ chapters with proper italics, etc. *grins* 


	17. Chapter Sixteen: A Private Talk

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
  
~ Sixteen ~   
  
Jerrick Edom hobbled over to the chair the ex-vampire had vacated, facing the Gilbert girl. As before, he moved unhurriedly. The deep blue eyes tracked him wordlessly across the room.  
  
"Good morning," he said, meeting her eyes.  
  
::Is it?:: he heard her think, although she didn't say it. She nodded once to acknowledge the greeting.  
  
An awkward silence ensued. "Is there anything you need?" he asked, eventually. She shook her head.   
  
Something twisted inside him. "Elena," he said harshly. "I am still the lame, scarred man you grudgingly listened to three days ago. You have nothing to fear from me." He looked at her stricken face and said more gently, "The future will sort itself out. For now, we have matters to discuss, things to do and, I'm sure, preparations to make." His tone turned brisk at the end.   
  
She nodded; what choice did she have, after all? She looked about to say something, but hesitated. "I answer to the name Jerrick," he prompted, attempting to lighten the mood.  
  
She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Her sense of humor asserted itself and she cracked a smile. "I don't know where to begin," she admitted, her posture relaxing somewhat.  
  
"Well, then, allow me." He glanced about the bright, airy kitchen. "Perhaps we should move this discussion to a less public location," he suggested delicately.  
  
She followed him past the large dining area and fully equipped recreation room. He chose the library for their discussion, shutting the door with a faint click before hobbling over to one of the chairs set invitingly in a circle.  
  
"You know me, obviously," he began once they were both seated. "I will say that not even Crystal knows my true identity. For the sake of peace around here and the success of our work, I ask that you keep it that way." He paused for her to agree.   
  
"Now, tell me what you already know or remember. I'll fill in the gaps." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and set his chin atop his laced fingers in a posture of patient attentiveness.   
  
She began, haltingly, with the events of a year ago. Protecting Fell's Church from the Other Side. How she had bound the spirits that summer's night to hold Klaus in the spirit realm. Her return to the Other Side and the chance she was offered. To return to the human world.   
  
She didn't go into the details or the conditions for her return. She related the year that followed; how she was drawn to the anguish of vampires craving release, how she gave them a choice, how she changed them. "Some… didn't make it. They couldn't accept the limitations of humanity again and I wasn't strong enough to hold on to them." There was no self-recrimination in her tone, merely regret. Dispassionately, he was thankful; having her eaten up with guilt would have been an unwanted complication.  
  
"I didn't remember any of this then. You kidnapped me and brought me here. And last night... it was as if some Power inside me awakened. And I was _allowed_ to remember."  
  
"Oh, yes," he breathed. He got up and began to pace, painstakingly, but with surprising speed.  
  
"When I realized that you didn't remember anything, I was stumped. I watched you for months, waiting for–" he shrugged. "Some sign or indication, something, anything to tell me you knew about our task. But you were oblivious. I could have just snatched you but what good would that do? And then you started – ah – Turning vampires. Watching you was like watching someone with multiple personality disorder; it was as if you were two different people."  
  
He stopped pacing and sat back down abruptly. "I know very little about Turning," he said, steepling his fingers. "Tell me about it. From your earlier comments, the vampire has to consent in order to be Turned? Without their full support, you can't change them?"   
  
She nodded confirmation. "So you can't force a vampire to be human? They'll simply die?" he pressed.  
  
"I haven't tried to change an unwilling vampire. I believe my purpose is to help vampires, particularly those who were changed against their will, who wish to regain their humanity," she said deliberately, sounding as if she was realizing these things as she spoke.   
  
"How interesting. Your ability to Turn vampires was not in the original 'plan', you know?" he said deprecatingly.  
  
"Oh..." she looked nonplussed. Then she seemed to get carried away by some thought. By the expression on her face, he guessed that it was an unpleasant one.   
  
"'The original plan'," she said, returning to their discussion. "What is your part in all this?" She regarded him like a startled deer.  
  
He turned his face away from her, looking out onto the lawn through gaping holes in the wall where once there had been tall French windows. "I am to guide and guard you until the task is completed."  
  
"Why?" she whispered disbelievingly.   
  
"Why do any of us do anything, Ms Gilbert?" he asked rhetorically, still gazing out sightlessly. Fortunately, she took his evasion as a cue to leave the matter alone, and changed the subject.   
  
"The prophecy – where did that come from?"   
  
One side of his mouth quirked. After a moment, he looked back at her. "We made it up. It was a play on words. The references should be obvious now. I needed something to entice Crystal's cooperation so it had to draw vampires. Vampires dying and disappearing was commonplace enough; I had to make it seem like a greater threat.   
  
"I also needed to draw an Old One. I gambled that, confronted with a target, you would rouse to your gift. Keir Achmed was visible and the most aggressive, so he was a logical choice. And so, I set out to catch his attention; I sent people to infiltrate his ranks and spread the prophecy, and let them 'find out' about you and led them to where you were."  
  
He watched her expression alter slightly. She looked faintly as if she tasted something sour. ::And what if you had gambled wrong...!:: he heard her say mentally, but her though ended in shock as a new realization dawned on her. He nodded imperceptibly and let his gaze wander, giving her time to digest this new revelation. He heard her draw a slow breath, finally and ask shakily, "So... what now?"  
  
"I think that covers the background. Now, we plan for the future. The main problem is drawing out the targets; they are very elusive and not readily identifiable. If they could all be found and lined up in a row, that would make our task very simple," he said dryly.   
  
"Not unless you want to bring about the end of the world. And even, it might not work," she said, shaking her head slowly.  
  
"What do you mean?" he demanded, almost angrily.  
  
"There are two problems, Jerrick," she said, slightly stiff and obviously forcing herself to stay calm. "The lesser of which is that I need to train with my new ability – I can't be hugging every target!"  
  
He was only faintly amused by this, pale eyes still glacial. "And the other?"  
  
"The storm," she said cryptically. "That was excess Power with nowhere to go." She paused to let that sink in. "When an Original is unmade, all his Power is released. It needs to be channeled or contained somehow. Last night's storm was cause by only _leakage_; if _all_ the Power is unleashed... I don't know how much destruction it would cause. And I couldn't control it last night."  
  
His eyebrows rose. "Things went very well last night," he pointed out.  
  
She shook her head again, more emphatically this time. "You don't understand. Last night was the Solstice. I was able to open the Veil and release the energy into the spirit realm. I don't think I could do that after today."  
  
He stared at her for a split second, fury stark on his face. He turned his head sharply, releasing her from his gaze. He propped one elbow on the arm of the chair and touched his fingers to his lips thoughtfully, unaware of how Roman he looked in that pose.   
  
After a long moment, he exhaled. "Too well. Last night went almost _too_ perfectly," he murmured tiredly. He fell silent, a faraway look on his face. He seemed to have forgotten that she was there, until she shifted restlessly.   
  
Pale blue eyes caught lapis lazuli ones. "Yes, Elena, it would seem that training is required. I can't give you any answers immediately. We'll talk some more later," he said, in clear dismissal.  
  
She stood uncertainly. His change of mood had thrown her off balance. "Am I still a prisoner?" she asked finally.  
  
Distracted, he glanced at her. "That depends. Do you want to leave?"   
  
She was still less than completely sure of herself and here was security and people who seemed to know something about her. Better to stay than to leave full of questions, to face a vampire army alone. "No," she said in a firm tone.  
  
"Then you're free to come and go as you please."  
  
Bemused by the contrary reply, she nodded and left. Just before she shut the door behind her, however, he called her name. She half-stepped into the room quizzically.   
  
He was looking at her, standing beside a bookshelf with an old leather bound volume open in his hand. "There is one question you might want to think about. Don't answer me, just think about it: What about Stefan Salvatore?"  
  
  
Author's Note: You like? Review! 


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Noon Hunt

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
  
  
~ Seventeen ~   
  
It didn't take a genius to figure out that the boys were in on last night's weird happenings up to their necks.  
  
Well, if Tristan was in up to his neck, Samar corrected herself, it would have reached Aodhan Makoe's eyeballs.   
  
The trio arrived home in the wee hours of the day, moving wordlessly like any a long-standing, coordinated team. Samar thought they looked tired; even Tristan was subdued. In addition to the weapons cases, they unloaded a small bag with uneven shapes outlined against the sides.  
  
She crept silently back into her room before they saw her and huddled under the blankets, hearing to them clamber the stairs and retire to their own rooms. She drifted off to sleep while listening for further activity.   
  
The clock told her it was mid morning when she woke up again; she had slept for six hours. Adrenaline shocked her out of bed and she hastily scanned the house.   
  
She breathed a sigh of relief to sense Leon deep in slumber down the hall and the other in the living room. She got dressed and went downstairs to find Tristan messing with his weapons again and Aodhan channel surfing.   
  
"Well, well," she said sarcastically from the bottom step, hands on her hips, "The prodigal men returneth."  
  
::Don't start with me this morning, Samar,:: Tristan warned mentally before he turned to her. "Good morning," he said aloud.   
  
::'Good morning', not 'good morning, midget'; he _is_ trying.:: Samar grudgingly played along – her way. "Oh, good morning, big brother!" she said chirpily, clasping her hands and going on tiptoe. She seemed at any moment to ready to rush to over and hug him.   
  
A death glare much like her own, albeit more manic, was thrown her way. She grinned smugly at him and plopped down beside Makoe on the couch. "So where have you three been?"  
  
Makoe, as usual, ignored her. Tristan turned back to his toys, running an oiled cloth over the gleaming silver barrel of his Freedom Arms Magnum. "Out," he said ambiguously.   
  
Samar rolled her eyes. "Well, what a revelation! Hello? Where? Doing what?"   
  
"Around," he snapped over his shoulder. "Doing nothing that concerns you!" Samar opened her mouth to retort but he went on, "Have you hunted?" His tone warned her that he was none too patient.   
  
She shook her head, sitting back sulkily. "Fine; neither have we. We'll go when Leon wakes up."  
  
"What, in the middle of the day? Why not tonight?"  
  
"Because," he said with exaggerated patience, "We have things to do later and you shouldn't hunt alone right now. Just," he emphasized when she opened her mouth to ask why, "do it. Don't argue with me."  
  
By now, her arms were crossed and her shoulders hunched, a prominent pout curving her mouth downwards. She caught her childish pose and sat up, chin lifting. Honestly, whenever Tristan pulled rank and played big brother, she reverted to being a pre-teen.   
  
Neither of them said anything after that and Makoe continued to zip and zap with the remote, ignoring them. Finally, an hour and a half later, Leon shambled downstairs. Either the boys had been conferring mentally or this hunt was preplanned; when the placid vampire appeared, the other two rose and headed for the door.  
  
Samar experienced a moment of panic when they headed for the garage but the two boys piled into Makoe's Supra. She followed, then Leon. They were quiet as Makoe took them into the city.   
  
Driving was Makoe's passion and Samar had to admit – privately – that he was marvelous at it. The car seemed more like a live creature than a machine with Aodhan behind the wheel. It was as if the vampire made it an extension of himself and controlled it effortlessly, to the point of bending the laws of physics and making the car do impossible things. Right now, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, Samar felt herself riding a dolphin, cutting smoothly through water at amazing speed.   
  
Makoe slid the Supra into a parking spot. They got out and paused on the sidewalk, assessing the hunting ground. Samar cast a jaundiced glance at the boys, who had all donned ultra-dark shades. With a sniff, she turned and made her way to her preferred targets: back alleys full of the scum of humanity and the suffering. She had long ago decided that if she had to prey on people, it would be people who were a blight on society.  
  
To her surprise, and faint annoyance, the three men stuck close; not getting in the way of her hunt but not spreading out and heading for their own hunting places of choice.   
  
::Oh, it is Protect-the-Baby week?:: she shot sarcastically, melding into the shadows thrown by the tall buildings set closely together.   
  
::Yes.:: It was Leon who replied, his tone dry but resolute.   
  
::I told you it's not safe to hunt alone right now,:: Tristan reminded her irritably. As if it were _her_ fault for going off alone and making the rest follow her.  
  
Samar threw up a light mental block and ignored them. She swept her mind over the occupants of the alleys; not many potential targets at this hour, only some homeless people, assorted victims of poverty, drug or alcohol addiction and a few runaways. She was beginning to think she might have to settle on ending some addict's misery when she came across another mind: one that screamed child molester.  
  
The man was drunk and weaving his way back to his dinghy apartment, where, no doubt, his abused family cowered in fear of his return. Samar glided through the dimness and suddenly the man was confronted with a slight girl in her early teens. "Hey, there," he slurred, squinting at her. "Get outa m'way, girl." She didn't move until he tried to roughly shove her aside.  
  
He blinked as the wind was knocked out of him from being slammed against the none-too-clean wall. The girl was holding him pinned there with a hand on his neck. The man's face turned a dark red, first from anger, then from lack of air as he struggled futilely to break her hold.   
  
Samar stared at him with murky green eyes that burned with righteous anger. "I'm going to drain you dry," she hissed, her fangs lengthening to delicate, razor tips.  
  
The man's glassy, bloodshot eyes widened, but there was nothing he could do. When Samar finally released him, he slid down the wall, leaving a trail of smudged dirt on the wall, an expression of terror and fear frozen on his features. Samar quickly drew a small knife over his neck to conceal the punctures. Wiping the blade on his sleeve, she resheathed it and returned it to her back pocket.  
  
She spent the time getting back to the car trying to calm down. Getting personally worked up over one's victims – whether guilt-tripping over ruining their lives or mentally beating them up for all the evil they had done – wasn't very smart and pointless to boot. The new blood sang in her, and Samar felt faintly reckless. She threw her pent-up emotions into a grin that made her look alarmingly like Tristan, earning her a curious look from Leon, who was lounging against the side of the car patiently. Shortly after that, first Makoe, then Tristan arrived. They wordlessly got into the car and Makoe worked his magic again back to the house.   
  
"Samar, we're heading out again," Tristan told her curtly when Makoe stopped the car in front of their home but didn't turn off the engine.  
  
She made a face at him in the rearview mirror. "I don't suppose I would be allowed to tag along?" she asked sarcastically as if she were a younger sibling wanting to be included. Well, she was, of course, but she had her pride.  
  
Tristan snorted in reply and waited for her to alight. Leon gave her a docile wave as the car pulled away, leaving her standing on the sidewalk alone.   
  
::Not for long!:: She had to wait until they were out of sight before dashing into the house. She grabbed Tristan's car keys and thumbed the garage door open. Oh, she had her pride, all right. But she also had her ways. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Visitors

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Note: Please review! Don't you know I'm only in on this for the fame and recognition? (I'm kidding! But responses _are_ deeply cherished and appreciated!)   
  
  
~ Eighteen ~   
  
Stefan stood with arms crossed, staring out the window. Behind him, the television was discordantly mundane against the anguish that ate at him from within.   
  
Elena had been gone for more than two days. Stefan had spoken to Bonnie about a half hour ago on the telephone. Neither had had much to say – nor wanted to say much.   
  
Two days... and that strange occurrence last night. Weak as he was, Stefan had sensed the ripple of Power that ran through the city like wildfire. It had been followed by an electric, ominous moment, as if existence paused on the brink of upheaval, and then the Power had drained away harmlessly.   
  
Elena's disappearance could not have anything to do with that incident... could it? If so, how? She was neither witch not vampire, and who else would be manipulating Power like that? Unless she was the innocent, sacrificial victim. One hand balled into a tight fist.  
  
::Stop tormenting yourself like this,:: the inner voice scolded, for once faintly sympathetic. Stefan ignored it and went on brooding.   
  
A knock sounded on the door, jarring him out of his thoughts. Dread and hope and surprise warred over his features as Stefan crossed the room to answer the door. Who could it be? Elena would not knock; she had the key. Unless she had lost it...  
  
Three vampires stood in the hallway. The first was the one from the café – the one who had known Damon. The second was as lean as the first, but longer and didn't seem to stay quite still, giving the odd impression of a jellyfish in water. And the third –  
  
_Damon?_ Stefan blinked. The third vampire was very like his brother – the same straight glossy black hair, a cold, menacing aura, and classic good looks.  
  
They didn't wait for an invitation, but walked right in, much to Stefan's amazement and annoyance. He was too well mannered to slam the door.  
  
His three unexpected guests fanned out in the living room. "What can I do for you?" Stefan asked, forcing an even tone. ::Maybe they have news...::  
  
::Too right!:: the mental voice cracked whip-like in his head, obviously in answer to his silent thought.  
  
"This place is no longer the dwelling of a human, so we need no invitation to enter," the tall vampire snapped, answering his unspoken question. He was standing in the middle of the room, fists on his hips. His verbal voice sounded much like his mental one. They all stared at each other for a moment.  
  
"Who are you?" Stefan burst out.  
  
"Tristan D'Angelo," the speaker said. "These are Leon Morris and Aodhan Makoe," he went on, indicating first the one Stefan had encountered before, who had draped himself onto the couch, then the other, slighter vampire. _He_ was leaning with arms crossed against the wall beside the window. There was a sense of distance about him, as if he was not touched by the proceedings. Again, Stefan was reminded of Damon.  
  
"Where's your pretty little human girlfriend, Stefan?" Leon asked idly. He didn't look at his unwilling host, but picked up the book Stefan had left faced-down on the coffee table and turned it around in his hands.  
  
Stefan's hands clenched as he jumped to the first conclusion his mind lighted on. "What have you done with her? If you've hurt her–" ::This is bizarre,:: the clinical voice in his head told him. ::These vampires come into your home – and you'll note that there are three of them, obviously well-fed and Powerful – and you're threatening _them_?::  
  
"Us? Hurt _her_? You're mad, man! What makes you think any of us could even _touch_ her?" the loud one – Tristan – shot back with scornful mirth.  
  
"Where's your girlfriend, Stefan?" Leon asked again. "Did she walk out on you? Or did you dump her when you found out about her little secret?" The other vampire looked at him and there was nothing placid or dull about those brown eyes. "I'm surprised she didn't _hug_ you before she left."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Stefan stated, bewildered, angry, defensive.  
  
"We're talking about your girlfriend, the Enemy, the one who will wipe out the vampire race," Tristan said explosively.   
  
Forest green eyes hardened. "You're crazy. Elena can't–"  
  
"But she did," Leon interrupted, his mild tone cutting cleanly through the emphatic exchange. "We all saw her. Even you must have felt the disturbance in the fabric of existence last night; that was _her_. Killing off an Original."  
  
***  
  
Salvatore stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Old Ones can't die," he said blankly. Leon mentally rolled his eyes before the Italian vampire shook his head. "You saw her?" he seemed to latch on to that fact. "Where is she?"  
  
::Oh, boy, he's got it bad,:: Leon thought, torn between pity and contempt. ::Clueless, too.::  
  
Scornful laughter from Tristan. "Somewhere _you_ certainly can't go, if you value your health."  
  
"Where is she?" he repeated.  
  
::Now, if I weren't 200-odd-years old and used to ignoring the voice of command,:: Leon began, amused. But he said neutrally, "She's in a closely guarded quarters of one of the most notorious vampire hunters in the Americas."  
  
He half-expected sarcasm for his uninformative comment, but all he got was more obstinacy. "I must know. Give me an address, directions, anything. If you won't tell me, then show me," he insisted. When neither Tristan nor Leon replied, he turned to Makoe. "Please." Leon noticed that the younger Salvatore's manner changed when he looked at Makoe, relaxing and stiffening at the same time.  
  
::Just how he reacts to his brother, no doubt. After all, you can count on family where outsiders would not help you, but with family there's a whole different set of problems,:: Makoe commented coolly.  
  
::Oh, caught that too, did you?::  
  
::Yes. Perhaps I'll cultivate that. For now anyway.::  
  
::Or until he figures out how different you are from his brother,:: Leon agreed.  
  
Leon watched Makoe meet the appeal in the deep green eyes impassively. Tristan was poised to protest. Makoe seemed to be studying Stefan, weighing him in his mind. Finally, he said to his two hunt-mates. "Seeing is believing."  
  
The younger Salvatore – Leon was amused to realize that he thought of Stefan as young although he had in fact lived longer than the rest of them – relaxed as Tristan threw his hands in the air in exasperation. A cold look from Makoe – and possibly a mental blast – made the latter subside into sullen silence.   
  
Leon played along, glancing between his two teammates. "It will be dangerous," he said, seriously.   
  
Looking paler than even a vampire should, Stefan drew himself up. "It doesn't matter."  
  
Leon nodded. "Let's go then." Tristan sulked all the way to the Baron mansion. Makoe seemed relaxed, cruising easily with none of his usual traffic antics. Leon wandered what they would find at the Baron place.  
  
::We didn't bring any weapons,:: he commented to the driver.  
  
::We'll worry about that when it comes. Play it by ear. Who knows?:: and cold gray eyes expressionlessly met velvet brown ones in the rearview mirror. ::Maybe Salvatore will be our ticket in.:: 


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Differences

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Author's Note: Forgot to mention before that I've taken to naming each chapter, as seen in the drop down menu on the top right of the screen.  
  
  
~ Nineteen ~  
  
Crystal sat in her wheelchair, fuming quietly over her invalid state. Most of the cuts and bruises were gone except for the one or two deep wounds. Her immense blood loss had also been rectified. Smashed bones and internal injuries were another matter, however.  
  
She stubbornly, painstakingly wheeled herself over to the gaping hole in the wall where tall French doors had stood before last night. Past the patio, on the once-green lawn, she watched the pathetic ex-vampires doing their 'weapons training'. The girl was there with them, swinging an eight-foot pole clumsily.   
  
Crystal scowled, completely without patience in her black mood. Useless sissies, the lot of them. It was just as well they were human again; whoever thought they ought to predators in the first place? And the girl was little better. Crystal recalled how the worthless frill had just stood there during the fight with Emery. Some Enemy she was. The fact that Crystal would not have wanted the inept girl to interfere and get in her way anyway was conveniently brushed aside.  
  
And still, the former vampires fawned over her, like she was some heavenly being. And that Eiran fellow was the worse of the lot, fussing over her continuously.   
  
She had objected to their presence from the beginning, but Jerrick had insisted, maintaining that they would guard Elena Gilbert with their lives. Admittedly, none of the vampire hunters in her band would; to them, she was merely a convenient vampire magnet. To her too, Crystal admitted. They should have thought of that bogus prophecy idea ages ago. Her frown darkened as she brooded.  
  
"If it bothers you so much, don't look," she was advised dryly. Jerrick appeared beside her, his gaze following the direction of hers.   
  
"Playing your mind tricks on me again?" she asked dangerously, despite the fact that she was in no condition to inflict injuries on others.   
  
"I told you long ago that telepathy is not solely the province of vampires," he commented lightly, wheeling her chair away from the phantom doors and deeper into the room. He positioned her chair facing a divan, which he sank onto. "But, no, I wasn't reading your thoughts, only your expression."  
  
Crystal studied his body language; relaxed but businesslike. She tipped her head in an aggressive manner sending her own silent message.  
  
"I've spoken with Elena. She won't need to be guarded anymore. I thought now might be a good time to do a post mortem," he said offhandedly.   
  
"What happened after my fight with Emery? My people told me that the vampires ran for no apparent reason," she asked, sounding faintly suspicious. Her fingers idly picked at the ends of one bandage.   
  
"There were three other vampires in the attic. When Elena dealt with Emery, they ran. I suppose they spread the word that their supposedly invulnerable leader was no more and that spooked the rest."   
  
"My people didn't hear any communication."  
  
"Telepathy, of course."  
  
::He's a terrible liar,:: Crystal thought derisively. She stared hard at him, but her gaze seemed to slide off him like water off a duck. ::Pity no one calls his bluffs.:: She wondered why that was, but that thought slithered out of her grasp oddly.  
  
She waited for him to say something, but he merely looked at her with polite interest. Her impatient nature finally won. "She did it, eh? She got him?" she asked brusquely, for lack of anything else to say. He simply nodded. "Fine," she said. "So what now?"  
  
"Now, you and the rest of the hunters should concentrate on regaining full strength and recruiting. Given the number of vampires that participated in last night's brawl and lived to tell of it, a second wave will not be long in coming." His relaxed pose never wavered and he sounded rather preoccupied as he told her this. Crystal wondered what was distracting his thoughts. His talk with the girl, perhaps?  
  
"And what about _your_ people?" she asked, meaning the witches and ex-vampires.   
  
"We will help wherever we can for as long as we can." Crystal's lip curled slightly, mirroring her opinion of how useful she thought they were.  
  
"Yes, you've made your thoughts on that matter abundantly clear," Jerrick snapped suddenly in a lightning change of mood that still threw her off guard after their partnership of one year. "I think," he continued with a frost-tinged tone, "That it would be best if you try and keep your prejudices out of your interaction with the other members of our team." Subtle, meaningful emphasis on that last word.   
  
"Reading my expression again, Jerrick?" she asked ominously.   
  
"No, you were thinking very loud and graphically that time," he retorted, but his mood was closer to its former, abstracted state.  
  
"Elena and I will be working together to strengthen her control of that gift of hers, in the meantime," he added, eerie blue eyes fixed absently on something on his right.   
  
"More mystic mumbo-jumbo?" she dared to taunt.   
  
"Perhaps," he rose, unperturbed by the jibe. "But all the same, it may save us in the end."  
  
He left before she could think of anything to say to that faintly cliché remark.   
  
***  
  
::What about Stefan Salvatore?::  
  
The wooden staff made a satisfying _thunk_ when it hit the practice dummy. Eiran had mentioned that the noncombatants trained with weapons whenever possible. At least they would have rudimentary skills to defend themselves with, if the need arose, he had explained. Elena, sure that the need _would_ arise and soon, had asked to join in. She chose a spear; no close fighting with knives and daggers for her, thank you. She wanted to keep her opponent as far away as possible.  
  
::What about Stefan Salvatore?::  
  
_Thud_  
  
::I don't know. No, I _do_ know. I just don't know what to do with what I do know I have to do,:: Elena thought miserably, wielding the ungainly eight-foot pole. Unfortunately, her new gifts did not include instant fighting skills. The staff was awkward in her hands but she thought she was getting the hang of it. She could know move relatively fast and keep her balance and aim–  
  
She gradually became aware of jeers. She looked about – unwisely. Without careful control, the tip dipped and nearly brained Sheila, one of the Turned.   
  
More derisive laughter.   
  
Elena hefted the staff, struggling slightly before she managed to plant the butt safely on the ground. She flashed an apologetic glance at Sheila, then her eyes were drawn to the source of the scorn.   
  
A group of vampire slayers, some bearing bandages, were standing beyond the training circle. Their derogatory remarks about the skill of the group in general and Elena in particular were loud enough to be clearly understood. Noticing her attention turned on them, their commentary sharpened and increased.   
  
Elena could feel the blood rising in her face, but whether from embarrassment or anger, she was not sure. Around her, the ex-vampires and witches slowed and then stopped their training to exchange uncertain glances. They had always ignored the mocking of the hunters, pretending not to hear.   
  
Angered on their behalf almost as much as on her own, Elena tossed her hair head and raised her chin challengingly.  
  
"Ooohhh, scary! Do you suppose she got Emery with that same look?" one hunter asked his companions in mock terror. His right arm bore a bandage.   
  
"Oh, definitely," agreed another, a bony, snobbish-looking girl. "Or maybe she bashed his head in by accident." That suggestion met with general laughter from the group.   
  
"If you're such experts, why not come here and demonstrate your skill?" Elena called, forcing her voice to stay calm.   
  
An arrogant-looking hunter with one leg in a white cast came to the front. "If it's a demonstration you want, babe, I'll be happy to oblige," he drawled suggestively. Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw Eiran stiffen. Hoping he would control his temper, she smiled sweetly, reverting to the old Elena Gilbert, the queen of Robert E. Lee.   
  
She eyed him briefly, then took a deliberate, swaying step forward. "Well, then, what are you doing all the way over there?" she asked meaningfully. And now Eiran's look turned disbelieving and his head swiveled to her. She ignored him.   
  
Amid catcalls and snide remarks contributed by his friends, the cocky hunter hobbled up to her, a self-confident smirk on his face and an anticipatory light in his eyes. She made herself hold his gaze boldly, hoping fervently that her plan would work. Her mind ran through the sequence frantically.   
  
He was in front of her, hands greedily reaching out. She let her smile widen, forced herself to relax when he pulled her to him and lowered his head to roughly capture her lips with his.  
  
Elena's free hand slipped up to his chest while the one holding the staff casually went behind him. She shifted position slightly as if to press herself against him. Eyes wide open where his were blissfully shut, she positioned the pole carefully–  
  
–and slammed her heel into the instep of his good foot.   
  
Instinctively – thankfully – he let go of her and stepped back. Elena's lance encumbered his injured foot and the unwieldy limb could not respond in time for him to recover his balance. For good measure, Elena shoved him hard in the chest.  
  
He sprawled on the ground. She wasted no time pulling the staff from under him. Recklessly, wildly, she spun it two-handed, so that the sharp end pointed to his throat. He froze, unable to get up or roll away.  
  
Tense, surprised silence, then laughter erupted from all the watchers, with a stray cheer or two. Elena spaced her hands apart to steady the lance, hoping that she looked competent and in control. She certainly didn't _feel_ that way.  
  
All the same, she flashed him another sweet, edged smile. "Oh, yes, very impressive," she mocked loudly enough to be heard by most of their audience. She held the position for another moment before backing a step and setting the butt of the staff firmly at her feet. He stayed still for another couple of seconds then awkwardly got to his feet.   
  
She looked around to see grins lingering on many faces, including quite a few hunters'. One elfin girl with all four limbs in casts and seated in a wheelchair, was still laughing hilariously. Elena wondered what she had suffered from the man to warrant that reaction.  
  
She lifted her chin challengingly again. "Now, is there anyone who would like to give us a couple of tips for real?" she asked, trying to sound as humble as her posture would let her.   
  
The laughter subsided into another tense silence as both groups eyed each other. Elena could almost see the wheels turning in the slayers' heads. Why should they teach these wimps anything? Why let them get an edge over the rest of us? This hopeless lot? Hah!  
  
"Oh, what the heck?" a voice from the hunters' side broke the stalemate. It was the elfin girl. "It's not like there's anything else to do around here right now, anyway." She jerked her head and a companion who appeared unscathed by last night's fighting wheeled her chair forward.   
  
When she was in front of Elena, she stuck out a hand as best she could and, with a wide smile, introduced herself. "Taura Lamberg."  
  
"Elena Gilbert," she returned, taking the slight girl's hand, careful to keep her grasp firm but gentle.  
  
"I know. We all do," Taura assured, tipping her head to indicate the hunters. "Although," and she leaned forward, voice dropping to conspirational level, "Most of them wouldn't admit it if you gave them a million bucks." She sat back again. "This is Mabel," she added, waving her fingers in the direction of her silent companion.   
  
Elena nodded courteously and received an equally polite reply, although the girl's expression didn't change a hair. Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw a handful of other hunters approaching the training arena and felt relief.   
  
Then Taura reclaimed Elena's attention. "Oh, that was marvelous! Domick had that one coming a long time; thank you, thank you, thank you," she chortled.   
  
Elena was reminded of Bonnie and felt a sharp pang of nostalgia and homesickness. She blinked quickly, to banish the emotions as Taura raised her voice and called, "Okay, let's get down to business!" 


	21. Chapter Twenty: Betrayal

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 25 November 2002  
  
Author's Note: I'm changing the name of that hunter Elena embarrassed from Domick to Peter. Also, I'm going to start dating posts from now on.  
  
  
~ Twenty ~   
  
As another evening crept up on them, the training session drew to a close. Elena handed her staff to a waiting Eiran and watched the figures drifting towards the house. Some new and unexpected friendships had been planted today, along with some new hatreds and grudges.  
  
Taura, who had been overseeing the knife-fighting exercises, was being wheeled over to her. The tall, ascetic Seth, who had been giving Elena pointers on how to use a staff was also nearby.   
  
"If only I was out of these stupid plaster tubes, I'd show them how it's done," the small girl complained good-naturedly when she got within earshot. "So how was your first day of proper weapons training, Elena? Did Sethie-boy here take care of you?" she asked, coming to a stop a foot or so away. The tall man did not deign to reply to this shot.   
  
"He did," Elena reassured, smiling. "And how are you?"  
  
"Oh, this is shaping up to be the most fun I've ever had recuperating. I think I heard the comment 'dead on their feet' more than once when my pupils migrated towards the house. Except, of course, that dead people shouldn't hurt so much." She chuckled evilly. "Ten bucks says they're all headed for long, hot soaks. Good thing Crystal's monster Jacuzzi survived last night's attack.  
  
"They think they're suffering now. Just wait till I get back on my feet!" Taura promised. Or threatened, Elena was not sure. "Shall we join them in the spa and gloat?" she invited.  
  
"No, I was thinking of taking a walk. Stretch my legs a little," Elena replied. She _was_ tired but restless all the same. And the dark line of trees fifteen feet away was beckoning to her.   
  
"What, Seth didn't run you ragged already?" Taura asked disbelievingly.   
  
Now it was Elena's turn to chuckle, but she didn't give any other reply.  
  
"Well, we'll see you inside then. Come along, Grayson," Taura said to Seth. "Leave Elena alone; she's seen enough of your pointy face today already." The austere man rolled his eyes but followed the wheelchair-bound girl with a stoic expression nonetheless. Elena heard her chattering fade as they moved away. When she no longer heard them, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and started towards the wood, head bowed and lost in thought.  
  
***  
  
"Alone at last."  
  
Stefan saw Elena jump, her head jerking up at the sudden voice. He resisted the urge to dash forward and pull her into his arms to reassure himself that she was real. Instead, he hung back as the other three vampires flanked her.   
  
"Well, well," Leon drawled in mock surprise and Elena turned from Tristan whose words had first drawn her attention. "If it isn't the super-slayer." Makoe simply stepped out of the shadows, his presence sufficient for Elena to notice him. Failing sunlight dappled the ground and the four figures. Stefan was careful to stand under densely covered ground, where no light fell.  
  
It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. Her sun-streaked gold hair – longer than it had ever been, her luminous complexion that never tanned, her expressive eyes as dark a blue as the lapis lazuli on his ring, the slender grace and regal bearing of her every unconscious movement.  
  
She looked from one man to another then breathed, "You're vampires." She backed a step and Stefan wanted to jump in front of her and shield her from the menacing trio.  
  
"Bravo," Leon continued to mock. "Now, can you guess why we're here?"  
  
She took another step back and raised on hand in a warding gesture. Stefan saw the three vampires tense. "I have no quarrel with you," she said. He heard the faintest quaver in her voice. She's scared, he realized and protectiveness surged through him again. At the same time, her reaction was odd, almost as if she was asking them not to start a fight that they would lose.   
  
Stefan's own reaction was mixed. The relief of finding her alive and safe was wearing off, replaced by confusion, hurt and a burgeoning suspicion. ::What if the vampires were telling the truth?:: Was Elena planning genocide on the vampires? He had seen her training with people who were obviously vampire hunters. She was here, in a hunters' stronghold, apparently of her own free will. He didn't know what to think.  
  
Tristan advanced three quick paces. "No, you just want to kill us and all our kind for kicks," he said with biting sarcasm.  
  
Elena stared at him and Stefan held his breath, hoping to hear her deny the accusation. "You don't understand," she said, her words falling softly in the stillness of the forest.   
  
"What's to understand? We saw what you did to Nigel Emery!"   
  
She seemed at a loss for words to explain and was silent. "_He_ had to be eliminated." If there was regret or sorrow in her voice, Stefan could not find it. He suddenly felt chilled. She had not denied killing this supposedly Powerful vampire. How could she, a human, have managed that? The vampires' claim that she had powers beyond any human's suddenly loomed in his mind.   
  
Makoe's cold words jerked his attention away from reflection. "And so do you." Stefan didn't see him move, but the shorter vampire suddenly appeared beside Elena. He pressed a small, almost dainty-looking pistol to her temple. Stefan reacted before he even thought.  
  
It was as if he blinked and was suddenly facing his three guides and hearing Elena's breath catch on his name. He didn't remember darting forward, evading Leon's grasp or knocking Makoe's gun away while simultaneously pushing Elena behind him.   
  
He longed to ask her all the questions that were plaguing him but he daren't turn his back on the three men. Tristan looked ready to rush him at any moment, Leon was as deceptively mild as always and Makoe was expressionless.   
  
All motion ceased. Stefan was beginning to wonder how long they would remain like that when he felt a warm hand resting lightly on his arm. "Stefan."  
  
He lowered his head a little in acknowledgment, not taking his eyes off the vampires. "Elena," he replied, his voice low. "What's going on? What is this?"  
  
She took a moment before answering him. "This is what I was sent back to do."  
  
"Wipe out vampires?"  
  
Another pause before she answered. "Yes." Her tone was quiet, but determined. Even half-expecting the answer, Stefan felt as if he had been sucker-punched. Or perhaps staked through the heart; the pain had been similar, he recalled. The past year, their plans for the life ahead of them – all nothing but empty lies.   
  
He resisted the urge to face her, forcing himself to focus on the waiting vampires. The exasperating voice of his better sense was lecturing him on the repercussions of his protecting Elena from them. He would need their help in leaving the Baron estate and there was little chance of him getting it now. And even if they _did_ take him with them when they left, they would certainly exact retribution for his actions once they were safe and free. Not to mention the coming apocalypse Elena would cause on the vampire world as a result of his weakness.   
  
But he paid the voice little attention, the roar of his emotions washing away the pull of logic. His bitterness condensed into six clipped words: "Why didn't you start with me?"  
  
He heard her draw a sharp breath and her hand fell away. He lost track of the moments that passed as he struggled to think clearly. The five of them still formed a frozen tableau; the deadlock had to be broken somehow. Stefan thought furiously; the vampires certainly wouldn't back down and withdraw, which left...  
  
"Go," he told Elena in a dead voice. "Leave."  
  
He heard a rustle from behind, as if she shook her head. "They'll kill you."  
  
"Then they'll save you the trouble," he ripped back, feeling a stab of disgust through the general wave of anguish at her hypocrisy. She fell silent, but did not budge. Stefan closed his eyes briefly, asking for strength, and then whirled to face her.   
  
Her face was white, bloodless and pinched with pain. A small part of him exulted that his words could still hurt her; he still meant something to her.   
  
"Leave," he told her again, flatly. "Before I decide to do every vampire in the world a favor and kill you."  
  
"You wouldn't hurt me," she said softly.  
  
The laugh that tore from his throat made her wince visibly. "Not too long ago, I would have said the same about you," he told her, each word ripping him apart inside. But he had to drive her away before the trio got her. He advanced on her, fixing his face in an unaccustomed, savage mask. Oddly, she did not retreat. Stefan cursed himself for not being convincing enough when he stood an inch away from her, staring down at her with fangs fully extended. He was beginning to think that he would actually have to hurt her when an alarm went up from the mansion.  
  
Someone must have found the guard with the broken neck they had left behind, Stefan thought. Or maybe the heap of cooling canine bodies they had hid under a bush. It couldn't have been any of the mechanical or electrical sensors; those would have raised an alarm long before this.   
  
Humans streamed out of the various doors and temporary exits in the walls, calling to each other. Someone pointed towards the woods and the flood flowed in their direction rapidly. With the approach of the force, the vampires came to life.  
  
Stefan turned to see Tristan brandishing another gun, silver-barreled and much larger than Makoe's pistol. He aimed it at Elena, but Stefan had carefully kept himself squarely between her and the vampires. To shoot her, Tristan would have to shoot through him.   
  
Tristan growled as Makoe grabbed his arm, jostling him. "If he's injured, he'll slow us down."  
  
"Who said anything about taking him with us?" Tristan fired back heatedly. Stefan kept absolutely still.   
  
"Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to treat a brother undead?" Leon murmured.   
  
"Get off my case!" Tristan sputtered. "If he has the wit to move out of the way, he won't get hurt. All I need is one clear shot." The gleaming barrel seemed to expand to fill his entire field of vision as Stefan stared at it.  
  
"Forget it," Makoe said shortly, eyeing the leading edge of the human band, which was ten feet away, armed to the teeth and rapidly closing in. He pocketed his pistol, shifted his gaze to Stefan then turned away. ::If you value your health, Salvatore, I'd advise you not to stick around,:: he said, already breaking into a fluid, ground-eating run. Leon followed, moving with uncharacteristic speed.   
  
Tristan looked momentarily torn before he snarled and took off after his hunt-mates, his longer legs making up the distance. After a split second of hesitation, Stefan followed them, refusing to look over his shoulder at the girl who was his entire world. 


	22. Chapter Twenty One: Opposite Sides

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 26 November 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty One ~  
  
::What about Stefan Salvatore?::  
  
Jerrick's question sounded mockingly in her memory. Well, now she knew; he would be safe. Pain coursed like fire through her veins as the tide of hunters flowed past her on either side.   
  
::Why didn't you start with me?::   
  
She had been unprepared for the harsh words and they had hurt all the more for it. And when he had threatened her, she knew him too well to believe he meant it. The threat, the physical intimidation; bravado and self-preservation. He had been defending his pride, showing her that he was not hurt. But she hadn't missed the fact that he had stayed in the path of the gun and her heart squeezed painfully; even when he thought she had betrayed him, he protected her.  
  
The knowledge was small consolation when he had left without a backward glance.  
  
Dusk had fallen by then and the hunters were swallowed up in the gloom beneath the trees. They had scarcely noticed her, although she thought Seth paused to spare her a look before disappearing in hot pursuit of prey.  
  
Prey. That's all he was to them. Elena hoped that the darkness would give the vampires enough of an advantage to escape. And that Stefan would not suffer at the hands of the others.   
  
She wondered, distantly, who those three were and how he came to be in their company. Stefan had never indicated any ties with other vampires. They had obviously been involved in the fight last night.  
  
"Why did you do that?" a quiet voice asked at her elbow. Elena was surprised again and felt her expression change, a mask over her emotions. She shot a glance to the side and made out a shadowy silhouette. It was undefined, but with the voice, she identified the speaker.   
  
"Why did you lie to him?" Eiran prompted when she kept silent. She turned back to the house and started in that direction with him trailing her by a step.   
  
"How do you know about that?" she asked, buying time to think.   
  
"That little hunter-girl said that you were taking a walk in the woods. I followed, but when I arrived, I found you facing three vampires. I heard and saw everything. He reacted very fast," Eiran said, referring to Stefan.  
  
Yes, Elena agreed silently. She had not seen him move like that in a long time. Sometimes, she almost forgot that he as a vampire. But not right then.  
  
"Milady–"  
  
"Elena," she corrected. It was almost automatic now, the flash of annoyance barely a flicker.  
  
"Elena. Why? If you'd rather not answer, you can tell me to go away and stop prying," he added, realizing that he was pushing for an answer.  
  
She sighed. "You saw how the hunters went after them. If he knew the truth, he'd insist on staying. What are the chances of him surviving that? Or he might ask me to leave with him. And we spend the rest of our lives running from vampires wanting to kill me. Will he survive that? He can die, for all that he's immortal."  
  
There were other reasons, but Elena didn't feel like enumerating them. Eiran was silent after that. Their eyes adjusted to the increased illumination as they approached the mansion; the house was ablaze with lights and bustling with an inevitable level of activity that came from so many living in close quarters.   
  
Eiran silently escorted Elena to her room. She was about to shut the door when Sheila and another female Turned appeared. "Mil–Elena. Jerrick says that we are to go to your old apartment and collect your belongings for you. Is there anything in particular you'd like us to bring back?"  
  
Elena was momentarily lost in fury. It took her a moment to realize that the girls were still waiting for an answer. "There's nothing. Just my clothes," she said, not caring if her tone was harsh. The glow of pride at being given the task left their faces abruptly at this. They bobbed their heads awkwardly and fled. Elena shut the door firmly in Eiran's face.   
  
Safely alone, she leaned against the door and slid downward. When she no longer had to hold herself upright with an effort, she wound her arms around her bent legs and rested burning eyes on suddenly weak knees.  
  
::Damn you, Jerrick,:: Elena thought angrily. Of course he would have know of the 'visitors'. And had done nothing about them. Even as she thought that, she could almost hear him say calmly, "It was necessary." ::Well, damn necessity and practicality and the order of the universe.::   
  
Eyes still closed against her knees, her mind wandered over the other reasons to keep Stefan away. If the intrinsic animosity between 'her' side – the hunters – and 'his' – the vampires – was not enough, if the coming battles were not sufficient reason, the potential chaos unleashed in the event she lost control of an unmaking made her choice easy. If she was going to tear out a chunk of the world with a hundred-mile radius, she did _not_ want him nearby.  
  
And then there was the fact that as soon as Stefan found out about her ability to Turn vampires, chances are he would _want_ to be Turned. And if he was one of those who could not adapt to being human again... No, Elena was not willing to risk that at all.   
  
And so, she had misled him, turning him against her on purpose, driving him away with anger.  
  
::Of course,:: a little voice whispered, ::You're pushing away the very reason you were willing to accept the task in the first place.:: Yes, the task was her price for a second chance, a second life with him. ::But,:: she told herself fiercely, ::What's the point if he's dead? It's easier to kiss and make up than to resurrect a 500-year-old vampire.::  
  
::It's the right thing to do,:: she assured herself. ::This doesn't hurt as much as it would if you got him killed,:: she said logically. ::Now, think of something else.::  
  
And first thing that came to mind was the incompatibility between her Turning vampires – in effect, 'saving' them – and her working with hunters – who killed the very vampires she was trying to help. That thought segued into the split within 'their side', between the hunters and the noncombatants. This afternoon was a good start to breaking down that barrier, but Elena knew that they still had a long way to go.   
  
The aching in her eyes began to grow into a headache that promised to be massive. With a groan, she got up and stumbled towards the bed.   
  
***  
  
The hunters called to each other as they searched the forest for the spying bloodsuckers. They were quite thorough and well organized about it. Fortunately, the vampires managed to remain hidden.  
  
After half an hour, when the commotion had died and they were certain that no hunter lingered cunningly in the dark, the vampires stirred and took stock.   
  
::High way?:: Tristan asked. It might have been safer but, although the forest was quite densely wooded, the branches did not overlap enough for the four to traverse above-ground.   
  
One at a time, they dropped, absorbing the impact with bent knees and hardly causing a stir in the air, much less any noise. They were vampires. They were the night's own and they slunk through it with the ease of belonging.  
  
Even Salvatore didn't do half-badly.  
  
They headed towards the edge of the Baron place, keeping alert for the sounds of pursuit.  
  
::Why are we letting him live again?:: Tristan demanded plaintively, referring to Stefan. The Italian vampire pretended not to hear the open statement. ::Why are we letting him come with us?::  
  
::Because he's one of us now,:: Makoe said coolly. ::Aren't you?:: he asked Stefan directly. He added a wordless sense of betrayal/pain/revenge behind his question. Not that he believed for a moment that Salvatore would harm the girl, but it would be...interesting to see how he reacted. And it would shut Tristan up.  
  
Stefan didn't answer right away and Makoe could sense Tristan gathering himself to push the issue when the sound of high-pitched slithering filled the night. Makoe felt something with a life of its own wind around his body and arms, and then another and another. He belatedly realized that what he heard was the singing of ropes cutting through the air.   
  
In an eye-blink, he was bound immobile. Three lengths of stout fiber-chord wound around him tightly, the ends held, presumably, by three hunters that he could not make out despite his superior vampire night vision. From Tristan's cursing, Makoe guessed that the others suffered the same fate.  
  
How had the hunters snuck up on them? They had stuck to telepathy, had barely disturbed nocturnal forest denizens save those that caught their scent and recognized them as predators.   
  
When the ropes had stilled and only the sound of someone – probably Tristan – struggling against the bonds could be heard, Makoe caught movement in the dark. He made out a single figure rising from where it had been seated demurely against a tree.  
  
"You saved me a bit of trouble, coming here on your own," a man said conversationally.   
  
Was it his imagination or were the surrounding lightening? No, the darkness _was_ lifting. And since none of the vampires were able to cast light, Makoe guessed that it was the man's doing. He noticed that beyond their immediate vicinity, the forest was still shrouded in gloom. Overhead, the trees seemed to lean inwards as if peering at the proceedings within the dome of light. Makoe looked for the hunters holding the ropes and got a shock when he saw no one there. The ropes hung in mid-air, as taut as if muscular men kept a firm grip on each end.  
  
"What the–" Tristan began, but he didn't get a chance to finish the explosive and probably colorful question. Another rope slithered out and wound itself about the bottom half of his face, effectively silencing any outburst.   
  
"Do not profane this place with your ignorant mouthings," the stranger said, sounding serene and stern at the same time.   
  
Aodhan studied him in the growing illumination. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, slightly older than Makoe himself, with tousled red hair and disconcertingly clear blue eyes. It was clear from the stiff, stilted way he held himself that he was no vampire.  
  
Salvatore and Leon wore similar wary expressions. Tristan's eyes were wide with outrage above his unconventional gag. Carefully, Aodhan asked, "Who are you?"  
  
"I am called Jerrick," the other said and Makoe noted the ambiguous phrasing of the answer.   
  
A memory teased the edges of his consciousness. Makoe's mind started putting the pieces together. Magic and the restraint on Tristan. Above him, Makoe thought the trees whispered. It was nothing more than a stray wind rustling leaves, of course, and yet –  
  
::It would seem you remember something of your mother's people,:: a voice said in his head. It didn't belong to Leon or Tristan, and was too resonant and assured to be Salvatore.   
  
Makoe softly gave voice to the answer his mind presented him. ::Druid?::   
  
The man's clear eyes met his. Aodhan knew that neither of them moved, but the eyes seemed to come closer and swallow him up. He recognized mind-control and fought it. Of the trio, he had always been the strongest and he turned his well-honed powers against the man. For one who casts light and mentally manipulates multiple objects at once, Jerrick's presence was surprisingly fragile.   
  
Someone had told Makoe once that his mind was a dark, still place, where black, icy pools reflected the light of searing meteors that occasionally, unpredictably streaked an empty sky. He alternately smothered the invader in cold and darkness that was his nature and scorched him with the fire for which he was named. But Jerrick dodged every thrown bolt and dove _into_ the inky, freezing lakes, past the icy cages Makoe crafted, penetrating his shields. Like the crafty fox, the invader won not by strength but by guile.   
  
Makoe felt gossamer webs spring up, too fast to be burned away, swathing his mind with dreams. He was thinking, as he slipped into the void, that the other had not answered his question.  
  
  
Author's Note: Aodhan is a Celtic name meaning fire. 


	23. Chapter Twenty Two: Deception

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 29 November 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty Two ~  
  
Her head pounded in time with her heart, her stomach growled, her bladder complained of neglect and it felt like every muscle in her body was stiff and aching. Falling asleep had apparently been a bad call.  
  
Fighting for control over the conflicting demands of her abused corporeal shell, Elena made her way to the washroom. When she reemerged, toweling her hair dry and wrapped in a comforting fuzzy robe, she noticed her familiar suitcases standing neatly beside the door.   
  
She bit her lip, sternly suppressing the inevitable reaction to that sight and dressed quickly. She _was_ glad to have her own clothes again. The realization did not do much to reduce her irritation at Jerrick's presumption, however.   
  
She left her room, following the sounds of chatter and cutlery to the kitchen. On the way there, she noticed that most of the repair work had been done. Signs warning of wet paint or drying mortar hung in some rooms and tools had been stored safely for the night. By the end of tomorrow, the Baron mansion would be as good as new.   
  
The amount of work it must have taken and the costs incurred were mind-boggling. Before her mind could retrace the morning's train of – had it only been a day? It felt so much longer – Elena entered the kitchen.   
  
Unlike her previous visit there, the huge area was teeming with people. Elena scanned the room automatically for familiar faces. The Turned occupied two tables, sharing a border with the witches. Elena noticed with a twinge of relief that their 'trainers' were interspersed in the group. She got the feeling that before today, the noncombatants would have been huddling in a corner by themselves, trying to go unnoticed.   
  
Taura had a look of humiliated suffering on her face as she let one of the witches dish food into her mouth. Catching sight of Elena, the small girl jerked her chin and indicated with her eyes that Elena should help herself to the food that was laid out on the sideboard. Buffet-style was obviously the most practical way to feed a mob this size.   
  
Her stomach demanding attention, Elena picked up a plate and joined the line moving down the table. The spread was decent, with a large selection of easily prepared components with an elaborate dish or two as highlights. Her plate was half-filled when she noticed a muscular hunter standing ahead of her in the line nudge his comrade and throw a meaningful look at her. She pretended not to have seen the exchange but was not taken by surprised when two large male bodies invaded her private space on either side.  
  
"Hey there, lil' lady," a basso voice said from above her head. Elena looked up quickly in acknowledgement, emitted a small, impersonal expression that might have been construed as a smile and tried to step around them.  
  
"Hey, what's the hurry?" another deep voice asked, its owner blocking her way.   
  
"I'm famished," she said truthfully, in no mood to deal with overbearing, possibly flirtatious men who were full of themselves. Men of bulky rather than slim build, with fair hair instead of dark, whose eyes did not look like leaves in shadow. A dull ache set in where her heart was.   
  
Once upon a time, she might have handled the two men more gracefully, flattered or teased them into complacence and then slipped away, leaving them infatuated and malleable. Now, she said, "See ya," her words empty.   
  
A strong hand clamped on her arm, holding her in place. "What, your time's too precious? You think just 'cause you're some big-shot magical vampire-killer, you're too good for the rest of us?" one of the thugs asked, his tone turning ugly.   
  
Elena was peripherally aware that silence was spreading over the room as more and more people noticed the scene. The group at the noncombatants' table in particular was watching tensely. Irrelevantly, Elena saw Peter, the hunter she had humiliated earlier, grinning widely.  
  
"Eh, Ronald McDonald! Colonel Sanders! Take your paws, mouth and the rest of your offending selves somewhere else, already," a familiar voice called stridently. "Elena's trying to be polite and not actually call you two ugly and obnoxious to your faces; take a hint or don't blame anyone else if your _feelings_ get hurt."  
  
The one holding Elena turned to glare at Taura. "No one was talking to you, you pipsqueak, so shut up before I do what that vamp should have done and break that pencil you call a neck," he roared back. At this, several people stood up. Mr Neanderthal and friend, however, were undaunted and looked ready to take on all comers.   
  
A pity, a small part of Elena's mind commented, that neither of them had managed to get cut up the night before.   
  
This was the second time she was being hassled that day by hunters. She wasn't even sure if it was because she was a girl, because she was not much of a fighter or if it was because she the great Enemy, this time. On top of everything else that had happened, and Elena felt her mind slipping towards despair. She closed her eyes, trying to get her mind to come up with a way out of this situation.   
  
"Ron, Jason," a mild voice intercepted from beside her. "I'm sure Elena didn't mean to be rude; she's probably just tired. She's not used to so much excitement, you know? Now, I _do_ know that it's been a while since she had anything to eat, so if you'll excuse us. We'll catch up some other time."   
  
Elena felt herself extricated from Ron or Jason's hold and steered away by a hand lightly cupping her elbow. She opened her eyes to see them exiting the kitchen, her plate still in hand. She didn't manage so much as a glimpse of the scene they left behind them as she was ushered into a nearby room decorated in black on dark with bits of chrome. When the door closed, Elena realized that the room was soundproofed.   
  
She glared at Jerrick as he directed her to a comfortable leather swivel chair, dimly thinking that this must be the AV room. "'Not used to so much excitement?'" she quoted scathingly.   
  
"Well, you wanted to get out of that position, didn't you? Does it matter how it's done?" he asked evenly, leaning against a glass-fronted cabinet containing entertainment equipment.   
  
"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Niccolo, the method _does_ matter," Elena retorted, not the least mollified.   
  
Jerrick raised an eyebrow at this insinuation that he was Machiavellian in his actions, but didn't bother to deny the accusation. "I can hear your stomach from here; eat," he instructed instead.  
  
Her appetite should have been killed several times over by the events of that day, but wasn't. Elena held back her arguments and took a bite of baked potato. At least she had got the sour cream before those two goons had gotten to her. She glared at Jerrick while she ate. He merely watched her silently.   
  
"I sent him away." No need to specify who she was talking about. "I hope you're satisfied."  
  
The eyebrow tilted again. "It was your choice," he pointed out blandly, disavowing any involvement in the events.  
  
"There was no choice," Elena said bitterly, remembering a too-familiar figure turning away, melting into the darkness. "How could I have let him stay and risk him?"  
  
"You have too little faith in your ability to keep him safe," Jerrick countered relentlessly.  
  
Elena had no answer to that. "Did they get away?" she asked, realizing that she had not managed to ask Taura or Seth.   
  
"The hunters couldn't find them," he reported in what she guessed was an attempt to be reassuring.   
  
She nodded, taking another bite of food. The other things she had wanted to rant at him about – not warning her about Stefan's presence, his presumption in sending the girls to collect her things – now seemed unimportant. "I'm going back to the kitchen," she said, stirring.  
  
He made no move to stop her, continuing to lean against the cabinet casually. "Fine. We will begin your training tomorrow evening."  
  
After she had left, closing the door behind her, Jerrick limped to a darkened corner of the room. There stood another leather swivel chair, identical to the one Elena had just vacated. This chair faced the wall, the black leather blending with the dark soundproofing material on the walls.   
  
Jerrick gently turned the chair around and looked at the young female vampire who occupied it. The girl's hazel eyes spat daggers at him. There was a lock of black hair with a dark pink tip in her face but she could not push it aside, bound and gagged as she was.  
  
  
Author's Note: Niccolo Machiavelli is best known for advocating the principle 'the ends justifies the means' in his book, The Prince. 


	24. Chapter Twenty Three: A Highly Charged R...

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 2 December 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty Three ~   
  
Reality spun, kaleidoscope-like, back into focus.   
  
The four vampires found themselves in a sparse room with gray cement walls and hard, cold stone underfoot. In contrast with the starkness of the room, the contents were varied and mismatched. The single door proved to be locked and the passages facing each other led to a warren of rooms. These were as unadorned as the first and furnished with the same motley fashion, but with some organization; there were several bedrooms, one room was filled with electrical odds and ends and tools, kitchen implements stored in another room. One room was entirely filled with boxes of books. There wasn't a single window in the entire place.  
  
And all four lapis lazuli amulets had been taken.   
  
***  
  
"Okay, so we can't go out in the sun. I don't see any light under that flimsy door, so it's gotta be night; why now just bust through it and _leave_?" Tristan demanded. It was his fifth variant of that suggestion.   
  
Leon was slouched in an armchair looking content or deep in thought, it was hard to tell. Makoe was leaning against a wall, arms and ankles crossed and dispassionate gray eyes broodingly sweeping the room. Stefan, perched quietly on a bar stool in a corner, looked lost in his own contemplations.  
  
"Hello?!" Tristan called after a minute when no one responded to his proposal. "Is everyone but me still in la-la land?"  
  
"I don't think Mr. Jerrick would go through all that trouble of catching us only to let us get away so easily," Leon commented easily. His fingers were linked over his chest and his eyes were closed.   
  
"So? We still need to get out of here. No way I'm gonna sit here and wait to be used for slayer entertainment. If we don't escape, what chance do we have? It's not like there's someone out there who would come and save us!" Tristan ranted, almost dancing in agitation. "Samar wouldn't have realized yet that we're in trouble, much less figure out where we went."  
  
Leon's eyes flicked open. He considered Tristan thoughtfully for a moment and the other vampire waited to hear what he had to say. Finally, Leon closed his eyes again. "We're underground."  
  
Tristan scowled at this non-sequitir. "That's why you don't see any light under that door. That's why there aren't any windows," Leon explained without opening his eyes. "If you tried to hear beyond the walls, I doubt you'll hear anything a thing unless there's an earthworm nearby. There's no easy way out even if we broke that door down; we'd still have to climb up who knows how far and there'll probably be a barricaded trapdoor at the top. Or more magic."  
  
That last bit caught Makoe's attention. "Magic," he repeated, a not-quite-there note of inquiry in that one word.  
  
"Yep. He's obviously one of the witches Baron keeps in her band. Some of the traps during the fight were magical, didn't you know?"  
  
Makoe didn't reply. Tristan's scowl had not faded; it had deepened. "Well, we still have to figure out a way to get out of here," he insisted sullenly, but Leon's revelations had obviously taken the wind out of his sails.   
  
"I wonder... He said we saved him some trouble by coming here. Meaning he's had his eye on us all along?" Leon mused on another vein.   
  
"Or maybe just _one_ of us," Tristan muttered, glaring at Stefan. Makoe looked at him and then followed the direction of his gaze. The Italian vampire came out of his reverie under the force of both their regards. Stefan's face was aloof and expressionless, reminding them of his aristocratic lineage.  
  
"What do you think, Salvatore? Was your girlfriend looking for you?" Tristan jibed, an undertone of accusation in his voice.   
  
"You were there are our last meeting; what do you think?" the – physically – younger man returned.   
  
Green eyes and hazel stared each other down. Surprisingly, it was Tristan who looked away first. Maybe it was because he had been unfairly targeting Stefan as the outsider, or perhaps the weight of anger and pain in Stefan's eyes was more than he had bargained for.   
  
Stefan got up after an awkward moment and left the room. Leon opened his eyes and thought, with a mixture of irritation and amazement, ::He's going off to _sulk_?:: even as he drawled ironically at Tristan, "Well done."   
  
Leon realized how alienated the young man must feel, trapped here with them. If he was to join them, some overtures of friendship were in order right then. Peacekeeper as he was, Leon rose and followed the retreating figure.  
  
After the two left, Tristan shot Makoe a belligerent glance to which the other vampire looked unimpressed. Ignoring him, Makoe went back to thinking about Jerrick. Tristan's mind darted from one topic to another, like a minnow; Salvatore, hunters, Samar, escape, why they were being held captive...  
  
A strange thumping from beyond the door brought the two vampires on alert. It died as suddenly as it began but neither man relaxed. The uneven noise resumed, growing louder as the source drew closer.   
  
Tristan and Makoe moved as one, taking up matching positions in front of the door. It opened and they both surged forward–  
  
–to hit an invisible wall and stagger backwards, reeling and dazed. They recognized what it was, when they recovered; the barrier was the same kind they encountered when trying to enter a human dwelling uninvited.   
  
They exchanged a glance and then looked at the scene framed in the doorway.   
  
Two humans, wearing similar expressions of suffering and laughter, flanked a very strange sight. Staying strictly on their side of the door, they maneuvered their burden through the threshold, pushing it the last feet or so. With an air of profound relief, they shut the door. The key turned in the lock.   
  
Samar writhed within her bonds. At first glance, she looked like a bizarre mummy, with fibrous rope wrapped around her body, molding it to the plain wooden chair she was sitting on. Her feet were tied together in an odd manner. The arrangement prevented her toes from touching the floor. Her hands were tied behind her back with more rope. Whatever she was trying to say muffled by the silver masking tape over her mouth. Tristan rushed forward to tear off her bonds, but was forestalled by Makoe. "Wait."  
  
The shorter vampire went over to her and ripped the tape off in a fluid motion. The air was split by a scream that held more outrage than pain.  
  
"It's best to get it off fast," he shrugged unrepentantly at her. Samar went on shrieking insults like a fishwife. When the comments turned to, "Untie me, you moronic undead," Makoe lifted an inquiring eyebrow at the Tristan.  
  
"Are you _sure_ you want to free her?"  
  
Tristan stared at his sister thoughtfully as she continued to struggle and hurl abuse at them. "Well... staying in that position is not really doing her any harm..."   
  
"And in her current mood, she would be _inflicting_ harm if she were able to," Makoe pointed out.  
  
"I guess... we should let her calm down first," Tristan said slowly.   
  
"Good idea," Makoe agreed. He briskly resealed her mouth, making sure her lips were closed so she couldn't cut through the tape with her fangs.  
  
Drawn by the sound of her voice, Leon reappeared, with Stefan trailing uncertainly behind. The phlegmatic vampire took a quick step forward at the sight of Samar but stopped when he realized that neither Tristan nor Makoe was making any move to untie her.   
  
At his quizzical look, Tristan said, a tad defensively, "She's fine the way she is, Leon. And she needs some time to calm down."  
  
Leon looked at Makoe, quite sure he knew whose idea that was. The dark-haired vampire returned the look blandly, unmoved. ::You know you're going to pay for this later, Makoe,:: Leon warned.   
  
::Oh, no doubt,:: the other replied, sounding mildly amused.  
  
Leon turned his mind to other matters. Stefan lingered in the corridor, staying out of the scene without actually leaving.   
  
"How did she get here?" he asked, careful not to meet Samar's accusing eyes.  
  
"They caught her, just like they got us–" Tristan began, not realizing how inconsistent he sounded.  
  
"She followed us," Makoe cut in flatly. Again, Leon looked at him appraisingly. He remembered the drive to the Baron place.   
  
"You knew she was following us, didn't you? And you _let_ her?" Leon said, losing his easy-going manner. Tristan was visibly getting worked up as well.  
  
"Yes," Aodhan resumed his position against the wall, hands and ankles crossed casually. "She wanted in on the action."  
  
"Dammit, she's kept _out_ of all this for a reason, Makoe," Tristan exploded. "Namely, that she can't handle it. The fact that she's _here_ proves it."  
  
"Would you like to take that argument up with _her_," Leon murmured, noticing the way Samar was glaring at her brother.  
  
"Your reasoning is a little faulty there, D'Angelo. _You're_ here; we all are. What does that say about us?" Makoe pointed out. "Don't you wonder _how_ she was following us?" he asked, interrupting Tristan's train of thought.   
  
"What do you mean, how?"  
  
"We _drove_ here?" Makoe prompted. Any other person would be smiling demonically at Samar at this point, but Makoe never smiled. Samar turned her death-stare on Makoe now. Leon caught on but looked unaffected.   
  
"Oh, _no!_" Tristan shouted at the top of his lungs. "Tell me you took Leon's Nissan," he demanded of his silenced sister, who continued to try and stake Makoe with her gaze. "_You touched the Lotus?_" he bellowed, incredulously. Samar only tossed her head and examined the ceiling with defiant nonchalance. Tristan's mouth moved incoherently for several seconds as he tried to find words to express his rage.  
  
He glared at Makoe for letting Samar follow them. He fumed at Samar for touching his precious car, for following them, for getting caught and putting herself in danger. He snarled at Leon who held up hands pacifyingly, wearing an innocent expression. Storming off, he didn't even acknowledge Stefan's presence just inside the hallway.  
  
Leon shook his head, met Samar's eyes and looked meaningfully at Makoe to disclaim responsibility for leaving her like that, and left. Stefan melted back into the hallway after him. Leon wondered if Samar had even realized that he was there.  
  
When they were alone, Makoe strode up to her casually. "Have you calmed down yet?"  
  
The hazel eyes shot daggers at him. He raised eyebrows, unimpressed. She tossed her head, looking defiant but grudgingly saying yes.  
  
"Good. Then I can take off these nasty bonds," Makoe said, sarcastically pleasant. As before, he ripped the gag off. Samar gasped and inhaled a deep breath to verbally castrate him but the cold gray eyes fixed on her flatly, watchful.  
  
She closed her mouth meekly. Makoe waited a moment before bending to work out the knots in the ropes binding her shoulders. It took a while to undo the complicated and multiple knots, more time to unwind the loops. From the separate ties, it became obvious that not all the bonds had been put on at the same time; more bonds had been added on later.   
  
"Gave them a time, did you?" Makoe murmured. She couldn't see his facial expression as he was working on the ropes binding her hands and was behind her.   
  
"I guess," she said. The ropes around her wrists fell away and she breathed a loud sigh of relief. She swung her hands – nearly hitting Makoe – and rubbed her wrists vigorously, trying to get circulation back.  
  
He knelt in front of her, fingers poised on the last bonds. "Before I let you loose, just remember that _I_ untied you. Also, I _let_ you follow us here; I could have lost you in traffic any number of times. So no abusing the benevolent benefactor," he said sternly.  
  
She nodded. When the ropes came off, she wriggled her feet to restore circulation, biting her lip and flexing all the harder against the pain of rushing blood.  
  
Makoe watched her for a minute, then satisfied that she was fine, turned to leave. He was a step away from the passageway when something hard and wooden crashed over him. He sprawled on the floor, seeing multicolored-white and letting out a barely audible groan.   
  
When he managed to roll onto his back, he found Samar standing over him, brandishing the wooden chair that had recently been her pedestal prison.   
  
"Numbskull," she yelled. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't _still_ be tied up. And you expect me to thank you for bringing me here?" She raised the remains of the chair threateningly a second time, but Leon came running back into the room and grabbed her and Stefan appeared to pull the arsenal from her.   
  
"Now, now, Samar, behave," Leon said, steering her away with uncharacteristic speed. Probably to protect her from Makoe's retribution.   
  
::I warned you,:: Leon reminded him.   
  
Telepathy was a blessing when one was gasping in pain. ::I thought you were talking about yourself,:: Makoe admitted, a growl underlying his mental voice.  
  
::Let's not start a feud here, Makoe. She's just a kid,:: Leon reminded meaningfully.  
  
Aodhan snorted, staring at their retreating feet from his position on the ground. ::As if I'd beat her up. Not only would I have her insane brother after me, I'd have to deal with you, the overprotective father figure, too. Is she worth that? I don't think so.::  
  
::Maybe not, but we both know you could do a lot worse. Call it even,:: he was advised.  
  
::Fine. She has enough of a score to settle with her brother, anyway,:: he returned, a trifle smug. He slowly worked on getting to his feet, feeling hands support and steady him.  
  
He met Stefan's eyes ironically. "Well, aren't we off on an auspicious start," he ground out. 


	25. Chapter Twenty Four: Teaching

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 10 December 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty Four ~   
  
Leon escorted Samar into one of the bedrooms that had gone unclaimed in the initial exploration, flicking on the switch as they passed through the threshold. The instant he let go of her, she headed back out the door. He grabbed the one thing that came handy – a fistful of pink-streaked black locks. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Ow!" She jerked back when the length of hair went taut. There was no real pain in the protest, but a whole lot of indignation. "Where do you think? I'm going to beat some intelligence and manners into that humanoid mosquito – there's always a chance that some of it might actually stick."  
  
"Considering that Makoe's the one who's been teaching you how to fight, I don't find that very prudent," Leon said mildly.   
  
"Not _that_ overgrown, two-legged leech, the _other_ bloodsucker. You know? The one who claims to come from the same gene pool as me?"  
  
"Oh." He released her, feeling the silky locks slide through his fingers. He regarded her fondly as she turned to him. She looked no older than thirteen, despite being a few years older than that when she was changed. Not that she looked like a chubby child; it was just that her features retained the softness of youth, having not taken on the clearer definition of maturity. Her slight build and excitability did not did not help the overall impression. "Well, Tristan has the advantage of reach and strength," he pointed out cautiously.  
  
She sighed and crossed her arms, ducking her head. "You're right. It wouldn't be a fair fight. After all," and she grinned up at him, making the hair on his arms stand on end. "_I_ have the advantage of speed, skill _and_ brains."  
  
Leon shook his head with mock exasperation. He had stopped trying to instill respect for her elders in her early in their acquaintance, with good reason. The imp was incorrigible.   
  
Movement in the darkened doorway behind her interrupted their exchange. The hallway was dim because no one had bothered to hunt for the elusive switch to turn on the lights there. Leon recognized who it was first by the height of the silhouette. The illumination in the room fell on Stefan's patrician features and vivid green eyes.   
  
He looked grimmer than when they had barged into his apartment. Then, he had been worried, anguished. Now he was torn and lost but covering it with a proud façade. Leon wondered if Stefan realized how alike he and his brother looked when they were in a bad mood.   
  
The brown-haired vampire watched as Samar had a predictable reaction to the newcomer. What was it about the Salvatores that had that effect on women?   
  
There was a prolonged moment of silence as everyone stared at each other. That is, Samar stared at Stefan who looked from her to Leon and back uncertainly. "Introductions are customary at this point, I believe," Leon murmured eventually. "Stefan Salvatore, this is Samar D'Angelo, Tristan's sister." The introducee recovered enough to step on his toe for presenting her in that association. He really ought to have known better, but relationships within a group were best explained, rather than leaving the outside to guess and mis-guess.   
  
Stefan did nothing more than nod. Samar lifted her chin as defying her own initial attraction to the dark-haired vampire. She studied him keenly before asking without hesitation: "So are you a member of the vampire gangs these guys run with?" The way she phrased it put Leon in mind of a wolf pack.  
  
"Not... really," the Stefan replied quietly, appearing unfazed by her straightforward manner. Or perhaps he was beyond caring. Leon couldn't blame him, although he felt a twinge of scorn. And people said _he_ didn't have a spine.   
  
"Ah, well then, who are you?"   
  
"A brother of an old friend of mine," Leon put in smoothly.  
  
"Will you _stop_ putting people in boxes labeled with their relatives' names?" Samar scowled over her shoulder at him. "'His brother', 'his sister'."  
  
"You asked," Leon reminded.   
  
She rolled her eyes, something he had observed when she didn't have a comeback. "Fine. Nice meeting you. Welcome to the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to show my darling brother just what I can 'handle'," she said mutinously. She flashed that unsettling smile that seemed to run in the family. "Have a nice day!" And she was gone.  
  
Leon inhaled deeply, as if drawing in strength. "Well. That was Samar," he said unnecessarily. "Is Makoe all right?"  
  
"Well enough. He made it to his room on his own two feet and is nursing a temporary lump on his head," Stefan replied. Was that an attempt at humor, even a weak one? Leon smiled faintly in response. The smile grew noticeably at the sound of a crash from a couple of rooms down followed by an enraged roar from Tristan... and another muffled thump.  
  
Stefan heard the sounds too, from the way his attention strayed. "We are a violent lot, but Samar doesn't differentiate between friends and enemies. Or blood kin for that matter," he added as another sound of destruction rang down the hall.  
  
"I'll... remember that," Stefan said. With a nod of acknowledgment, he was gone. Leon waited another minute or two to allow the other vampire time enough for a graceful exit before going to break up the fight between the siblings.   
  
***  
  
::I'm just a human, dammit!:: Elena thought, struggling to control the miniature whirlwind of power before her. ::Not contain, but channel,:: Jerrick had instructed. ::Not into yourself but into the natural lines of force.::   
  
He had first explained the theory of it. All of existence operated on a complex system, a grand design where Power flowed, as water might flow from sea to clouds to rain to rivers to sea. The Old Ones had accumulated the life force from their victims in addition to their inherent energy. When they were unmade, the Power could be dissipated back into the same system that it was taken from. Living things, weather systems, inanimate objects, yadda yadda.  
  
The second step was for her to be able to see the streams of power. Dimly, she had sensed the flow of force, standing barefoot under the trees as Jerrick directed her to do. It was a melting-icicle-trickle compared to the flood of pure Power left behind by Kier Achmed, but Jerrick had been satisfied with her progress.   
  
"Think of electricity and how it is grounded – dissipated into the earth. Power can be dispelled in the same way. The earth is a subtle system, the most stable of them all. That's why, even though the other systems can take in more Power, you'll learn to work with this system first," Jerrick had explained.  
  
And here she was at step three: handling the power, directing it where she willed. And here she would stay, it seemed, forever.   
  
Elena tried again, for what felt like the hundredth time – concentrate, she told herself – imagining a funnel and a net holding the Power Jerrick had loosed at her. The net contracted, forcing the Power through the funnel and into the natural lines in the earth…  
  
But instead of being absorbed into the earth, the power ran over the surface, settling uneasily like oil on water.   
  
She felt a stab of irritation and her control slipped. The Power sprang back, alive, seeking an outlet, like a wild creature striking–  
  
Someone stepped in and took over the situation. Power was gathered and stored for the next practice, which Elena was sure would come all too soon. She slumped to one side, propping herself up on one hand.   
  
Jerrick mirrored her position, seated cross-legged on bare earth with shoes set neatly to one side, minus the sideways slant. He was studying her, wearing a detached, thoughtful expression.   
  
"That was better," he evaluated. "You ability to handle Power is improving. It is the channeling that you're facing difficulty with."  
  
"I don't understand why you can't do all the channeling," Elena said, a little peevishly. They were deep into the night; the mansion was dark save a single light undoubtedly left by the faithful Eiran. The air was more than a little chilly and Elena was beginning to think longingly of her warm, soft bed.   
  
"It's complicated," was all the explanation she got, much to her dissatisfaction. Knowing that probing the issue was futile, Elena turned to another concern.  
  
"When I face an Old One, there's no way I can send all the Power into the earth – not without having some physical effect, probably negative, on the system." But could the earth accept such violent energy as they intended to introduce to it? What are the consequences of doing that? She did not want to set off an earthquake.  
  
"As I have said, I don't intend for you to do that," he said coolly.   
  
Once upon a time, she might have thrown a tantrum and demanded to know what he _did_ intend – and gotten answers. But that was in 'the old days'. When she was just a teenager, dealing with other teenagers and people in her life. When the love was a game in which she always won and choices were hers to make as she wished. And yet, some things never changed. Like the way Elena still schemed to get her way.  
  
"I think that it would help me in training to know what the end result is," she said diplomatically.  
  
Jerrick shot her a look that told her he wasn't taken in by the polite phrasing. However, he did give in. "There are several possibilities. The healers teach you to channel Power into living things for desired results. The diviners can source where the natural balance in the weather can be safely changed without affecting global climate patterns. The witches can show you how to store Power in inanimate objects or to harness the Power and use it offensively."  
  
Elena nodded, satisfied. This sounded more promising, although she wasn't sure she wanted to be able to use the Power left behind by Old Ones. It had to be tainted with thousands of deaths, stained with millennia of depravity...  
  
"Now, let us try again," Jerrick broke into her thoughts. 


	26. Chapter Twenty Five: Mood Swings

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 12 December 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty Five ~   
  
So they were well and truly stuck.   
  
Samar frowned reflexively, not liking that fact any more than Tristan. But the truth of the matter was that they had no way of getting out. The one exit was irrevocably closed to them and from the way they could chip a hole in the wall with tools but not put their hands in the hole, the ward extended to the entire structure.  
  
Unsurprisingly, her lapis amulet had been taken too. On the bright side, she was actually _in_ on what the boys were up to this time. They couldn't exclude her. Samar felt a tiny glow of satisfaction at that.   
  
She had been convinced that she would expire within the first day of captivity without television or her music. But here she was, forty-something hours later, according to the clock that hung high over the door like a bad omen, undead and well.   
  
The five vampires occupied various seats in the 'main room' where the door was. At the moment, each was lost in silent brooding, although Samar thought it was likely that Leon was actually asleep. They were spaced out as evenly as possible, with Leon sprawled on the other end of couch beside her, Tristan seated opposite them and eyeing her belligerently. He was still sore about losing to her in that last fight. Makoe had a loveseat to himself and Stefan was perched on a bar stool, slightly removed from their immediate quasi-circle.  
  
Samar's thoughts wheeled like a wild horse rearing on hind legs when they lighted on the new guy. She had barely seen him in the past day or so; he kept mostly to his own room, or was with Leon poking through the 'library' where all the books were. But the few times she had seen him, her heart rate doubled and her mouth went dry. She knew her reaction was, but he was _gorgeous_ and, and...  
  
Her mind blanked and Samar felt herself blitz out. Oh, phooey. Keep your wits about you, girl. That one has probably had plenty of women fall mindlessly at his feet. There's nothing worse you can do but to succumb to him without a word. It must be the lack of blood, she convinced herself. She wondered if they were being left to starve and kill each other in mad blood lust.  
  
No one speculated much on why they were being held, except Tristan, who was convinced from one hour to the next that they were being held for torture, experimentation, brainwashing to be sent back as spies or because Elena was having a temper tantrum.   
  
"Elena?" she had asked, when the name came up. Tristan had filled her in with what Samar guessed was 90% wild opinion and embellishment and 10% fact. Leon, who apparently was awake after all, and Makoe interjected corrections or sarcastic observations to temper his account. Stefan was absolutely still.   
  
Samar determinedly squashed her disappointment that he was already attached and said with characteristic force, "Let me see if I got it: you heard a rumor about a girl who will exterminate all vampires like so many bugs and attack a bunch of vampire hunters to kill her. Not only is she not killed, she takes out a very Powerful vampire. It turns out the girl is Stefan's human girlfriend. You guys bring him here – why? – and get caught."  
  
"That's about covers it," Leon agreed. She must have kept quiet for an expectant while before Leon cracked open an eye and prodded her with a finger. "What?"  
  
To tell or not to tell? Samar mused briefly.   
  
"I heard a girl talking to Jerrick when they first caught me," she related, "I didn't see her, but she told him that she'd sent someone away because she couldn't let him stay and be in danger. Then she asked if 'they' had gotten away and Jerrick – I'm guessing he's talking about you guys – said that the hunters hadn't caught you," Samar said, watching Stefan's reaction out of the periphery of her vision. He was looking straight at her, making her swallow at the intensity in his beautiful eyes.   
  
"Well, then, assuming that the girl is Elena and they were referring to us," drawled Leon, looking sleepy-eyed at Tristan, "that eliminates the theory that Elena ordered our capture 'cause we got her mad. Sounds like she doesn't even know we're here."  
  
Samar thought Stefan relaxed slightly and his features softened. They were all distracted then by the sound of movement beyond the door. When it opened, the human was confronted by a ring of vampires, alert and dangerous.   
  
Tristan, the idiot, tried the opening again. Predictably, he bounced off the ward, although not with as much force as before since he had not charged forward at full speed.  
  
When Tristan was done playing chicken with the invisible wall, the human set the cardboard tray he was carrying on the floor and pushed it across the threshold. Expressionlessly, he shut the door in their faces.  
  
They all looked at the delivery. Five familiar red and yellow carton boxes sat on the floor.   
  
Happy Meals. Jerrick had sent them Happy Meals.   
  
The vampires stared in amazement. Eventually, Leon bent down and picked one up. Samar saw the names written neatly on one side of the box. The phlegmatic vampire opened the box and pulled out a bag filled with red liquid. And a straw.   
  
Samar met the brown eyes and felt her lips twitch involuntarily.  
  
"Liquid McHuman, anyone? It's still warm," Leon said blandly. He handed Samar another box before jabbing his straw in and taking an urbane sip.   
  
Makoe's eyes were glittering suspiciously although his face was as implacable as ever as he retrieved his own box.  
  
Tristan grabbed his and stormed off to his own room. Samar caught a muttered, "I can't _believe_ this. We're prisoners and this is _not_ funny..." as he retreated.  
  
Stefan slowly picked up the last box there, with guardedly. What might have been dread melted away when he held his meal in his hand. Samar puzzled over the reaction when Makoe observed coldly, "I think Stefan's is a Essence-O-Cat."  
  
He watched Samar's reaction to that maliciously but she didn't notice. Gorgeous guy or no...  
  
"You drink animal blood?" she asked, handing her bag to Leon, who took it with a worried look, before advancing on Stefan. The Italian vampire tensed but did not move back. "Yes."  
  
She swung at him, a backhanded blow with her fist snapping his head to the side. She got in another two hits to his solar plexus and neck before he recovered enough to catch her wrist. She saw a glimmer of anger amid the surprise. He gave her a look that asked what this was all about.  
  
In answer, she gripped his hand, twisted and threw him over her shoulder. He emitted an 'oof' when he landed. She leaned over him with one knee on his chest. "I don't like vampires who slaughter defenseless animals. They're more innocent that humans can ever be and they don't deserve to die," she said sweetly around her elongated fangs, leaning close until she felt his breath on her face. Her knee bore down on him pitilessly.  
  
She felt hands grab her waist and lift her away. "Leave it, Samar. It's his choice. He's not condemning you for living off humanity, you don't beat him up for drinking animal blood," Leon said firmly.  
  
She turned to fix him in a poisonous look but he didn't back down. The deadly look swung to the vampire still on the floor. He didn't look at all gorgeous now. The cold, silent one standing to one side with a half-empty back of blood returned her gaze expressionless.   
  
Lips twisting in disgust, Samar grabbed her blood bag back from Leon and left the room. Stefan slowly got to his feet, the contents of his bag cooling in his hand.   
  
Makoe, who had started the entire fiasco, finished his meal leisurely, ignoring the accusing look Leon fixed on him. He tossed the depleted bag into a trash bin, shot Stefan a sardonic look and followed Samar, leaving the duo standing awkwardly behind him. 


	27. Chapter Twenty Six: On The Training Fiel...

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 14 December 2002  
  
  
~ Twenty Six ~  
  
Creaking sounded loud in his ear. Eiran held the position for a moment before releasing the arrow, hearing the bow spring back into position. With a thud, the arrow embedded itself in the target. Not a bull's eye but it was a darned sight better than he had been able to do four days ago.  
  
He realized, as he shot another five arrows at the various targets set randomly before him, that his body was beginning to accustom itself to the weapon. The actions of drawing arrows, nocking, aiming and releasing were smoother, surer. He was more able to focus on externals now.  
  
Standing to one side was his instructor, Jason. With sharp features and a neat goatee, he looked like he belonged in tunic and leggings with a feathered cap over his wavy brown hair. His expression was _not_, however, merry. The hunter had a habitually sour look on his face. Taura had assured the trainees that didn't have to do with their performance; Jason was just like that. Gruffly, the hunter nodded, before turning to scrutinize another archer behind him, dismissing Eiran for the day.   
  
Eiran collected his equipment. Gunshots shook the air and the sound of metal on metal ran grating fingers down nerves as he picked a careful way through the various training sessions spread out on the lawn. Beneath the ruckus ran an undercurrent of subdued thudding of wood striking wood.   
  
Even after nearly a year of being human again, he was sometimes disoriented by his senses. None of the Turned reverted completely to what they once were before they became vampires. A number retained a hint of the perfect beauty that vampirism had bequeathed them, or simply the quality of a predator. Some often wore a faintly haunted look, holdover of ghastly experiences.   
  
Reflexes and senses, however, were a curious melding of the physical and the mental; the body remembered being able to do things beyond its physical capability and was sometimes taken aback by its limitations. Speed that was once effortless was now impossible; sights, sounds and scents that were once sensed were only half-detected, a remnant of an unconscious, uncanny knowledge. Sometimes, Eiran _knew_ that a particular sound was there because it _should_ be although his ears could not hear it.   
  
It was like a deaf and blind person given sight and hearing and then having it taken away again. Or perhaps like an ordinary person walking around with a film over his eyes and cotton up his nose and in his ears.  
  
Depositing his stuff on the fringe of another training group, he stepped up to a large, muscular woman. She smiled at him, sharp and quick, and motioned for a pair of – previously – non-combatants to stop their sparring.  
  
"That's enough for you today, May-Ling. And here is Eiran to volunteer as a practice dummy for you, Nelson," she said, slyly. "Run through the moves you learned yesterday. Let's see how much a night's sleep has made you forget," she instructed him. She draped a hand around the slender Chinese girl as she led her away. Eiran could hear her counseling in a voice at once brisk and encouraging, unlike the merrily derogation she used on him. "Your footwork's better. Just remember to trust your body and your own instincts. You've got a _good_ head on those shoulders, not to mention all that ancestral knack..."   
  
Elsa was a bundle of surprises. A tough fighter but wholly feminine, she treated most people with rough efficiency that demanded excellence. There were a number of her 'students', however, who would not have fared well with that treatment and the female warrior seemed to know that. These she treated... well, differently. Not so gently that they felt conspicuous but tenderly enough that they did not retreat into themselves.  
  
Eiran and Nelson took up a fighting stance opposite each other and began the exercise. Most of the non-combatants focused on a single weapon but Eiran did double training in archery and hand-to-hand combat. In his bag of equipment was a pair of nasty wooden claws that were meant to be fastened to the back of his hands like a second set of fingers. Wearing those and with fists clenched, he was ready to do a fair bit of damage, slashing and ripping, but he didn't often use it in practice.   
  
He had decided on archery because it was a clean, removed way of fighting. Hand-to-hand combat he had chosen because he knew that he would need close fighting knowledge if he ever had to protect Elena from physical harm. As he blocked his sparring partner's hits and struck his own, Eiran reminded himself that he wasn't the only one undergoing double training.   
  
Across the field, Elena exchanged blows with Sheila under the watchful eye of Seth. It was almost like dancing, this weapons work. You learned the steps and learned them well and you learned the sequence. Somewhere along the way, you broke away from the formula and your body took the intention of the mind and translated it into a combination of steps that were appropriate, making it no longer individual moves but a flowing arrangement. You learned to weave a pattern to entrap your opponent.   
  
Perspiration coated her skin but Elena felt strangely elated, alive, as she whirled and spun the once-heavy lance. The aching of overused muscles had faded over the last two days and she felt more in tune with her body than she ever had. Today, Seth had presented her with a new staff, slimmer and lighter but every bit as tough as the earlier one. Sheila wielded a different sort of lance, flexible where Elena's was firm. The wildly rebounding stick wobbled threateningly and Elena had to concentrate on its rhythm to ensure she did not get hurt. Seth had taught the two girls how to use the features of each weapon to their own advantage and exploit the weakness of the opponent's weapon.  
  
Sheila dealt her a particularly ruthless bash, jarring her bones as the rigid wood translated the shock up into her fingers. Clenching her teeth, Elena caught the end of Sheila's spear with her staff, stilled the wobbling with a quick turn and bent it to her own design. The ex-vampire lost control of her rebounding weapon. Her grip slipped and Elena managed to strike the flexible rod aside, disarming her foe.  
  
Seth, hands on his hips, motioned for one of the spectators to retrieve the lance as the two girls turned to him. "Better," he said, in his sparse way. "Maybe we won't put up a bad showing next week, after all."  
  
Next week was planned as a free for all with people using different weapons going up against each other. Next week was also the time the witches had promised a number of the hunter-trainers a clean bill of health. Taura looked forward to that with great anticipation. Needless to say, training would step up a notch in intensity then.   
  
Seth waved a hand at them to go away. "Rest. Tomorrow is a new day," he said rhetorically. His group gathered their gear and headed to the mansion. Most did not need the Jacuzzi anymore but a hot shower was still welcome.   
  
Elena moved with them, only half paying attention to the happy chatter. The past four days had the curious quality of seeming a long time and yet no time at all. In that time, although the line between Turned and hunter had not been blurred, at least both parties had drawn closer together. A number, particularly among the trainers, had become staple presences among the non-combatants and were learning that there was more to the peaceable group than met the eye. Elena had caught a look of surprise and mild respect a time or two when a trainee made a particularly ingenious move or said something unexpected. With the lessening of antagonism, the non-combatants in turn, were beginning to come forward and shine. Elena was glad.  
  
For herself, her days were filled with weapons training and generally working with the people around her, her nights taken up with being pounded on with raw Power by Jerrick. If she was making progress in the latter, it was imperceptible. She sighed with frustration, earning curious looks from her fellow trainees, which she didn't notice.   
  
On the bright side, she fell into bed exhausted at the end of each day and all this activity left her little time to brood and pine for a certain green-eyed vampire during the day.  
  
She paused as they reached the mansion and the others flowed past her. Dust motes caught the light and the orange of the setting sun was glaring as she looked back on the lawn that was their daily practice field. A number of individuals were putting in additional hours or learning night-fighting. Some had come late and were just getting started. Elena noticed Eiran sparring with Elsa wearing those nasty-looking wooden claws of his. A little removed from them, a band of stubbornly contemptuous vampire hunters were carrying out their own exercises.   
  
Despite all the frenetic activity, Elena felt a restlessness in the air, a sense of waiting among hunter, the Turned and the witches alike. There was no clear direction or target for them; 'what's next?' was on many minds. They didn't know it yet but the answer would come soon.   
  
It would come tonight.  
  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know this one's rather long-winded. Feedback is, of course, much craved. =) 


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven: Basic Instructions

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 18 December 2002  
  
~ Twenty Seven ~   
  
Crystal spun.  
  
In the shadowed hall, her bare feet whispered on the polished wooden floor and the silk of her black _gi_ slipped over her skin sensuously.   
  
She finished the kata with a flourish, coming to rest where she had begun, in one of the puddles of light that dotted the floor. It was good to be back on her feet again; convalescence always irritated her. She wasn't incapacitated often these days but when she was, the inactivity still rankled.   
  
She tossed her head, a habitual gesture that used to send her abundant mane of hair sliding off her shoulders but now only flipped her fringe out of her eyes. Shortly after the battle, she had gotten her hacked off tresses properly cut into a sleek cap that molded her head and left feathery locks framing her face.  
  
She made a mental note to find herself sparring partners soon; katas were a physical conditioning and centering exercise, not combat practice and one didn't keep one's edge by being idle or complacent.   
  
She strode to the wall on the far end of the hall, which was decorated with an array of weapons. Many were priceless antiques while others were specially handcrafted items. The collection had to be removed whenever an attack was due and stored in safety and then replaced in the aftermath. A troublesome procedure, but Crystal didn't spare it a second thought; she employed minions for such details.   
  
Picking up a rapier, a jeweled blooded refugee of the late 16th century, she ran a finger down the pristine length of metal, absently testing the edge. Her thoughts turned sourly to the hunters who had taken to teaching the ex-vampires and witches how to handle weapons. From what she had heard, it was the girl's doing.   
  
That one was turning out to be more trouble than anticipated. She was supposed to draw the vampires; she was _not_ supposed to be some kind of figurehead for the non combatants, nor was she suppose to gain influence among the hunters. And she was certainly _not_ suppose to bring the two factions together. Crystal's green eyes narrowed and she twirled the blade in her hand in a gesture that warned of her mood, like the lashing of a cat's tail.   
  
A door opened, admitting a wedge of light. A figure was silhouetted briefly in the frame, red hair lit to a halo. She was surprised to see he held a cane in one hand. With his free hand, the newcomer shut the door and then approached her, the limp in his stride barely perceptible.   
  
"Jerrick," she acknowledged. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she added sarcastically.  
  
"Plans," he said succinctly. "Word has come that the vampires will attack in slightly more than a week."  
  
Crystal regarded the blade in her hand with what seemed intense interest. "How large a force are we talking about?"  
  
"Slightly greater than before," he answered without hesitation, "But without a leader as skilled as Nigel Emery."  
  
"Hm. And where does that leave us?" She seemed to ask the question of the rapier, on which her attention was still fixed, but they both knew it was more half-rhetoric, half-thinking aloud. Jerrick answered her all the same, which annoyed her slightly.  
  
"Not quite ready."  
  
Her eyes flared irritably as she glanced at him.   
  
"Firstly, there are those still recuperating who won't be fully capable in a week," Jerrick pointed out calmly. "The healers do their best but even they can only speed the healing process by that much. Secondly, you'll need to find replacements for those who died in the last attack. Without those, you will certainly be at a numerical disadvantage."  
  
"'You'?" Crystal repeated, challengingly.   
  
"Yes. I shall be taking a small task force to hunt another target," he replied evenly.  
  
She eyed him. "And this task force will comprise of?" she asked warily.  
  
"Myself, Ms. Gilbert and a few capable fighters. Some Turned, with a handful of hunters who have agreed to come along." He named a few 'trainers' who were incidentally among the more skilled of her people.   
  
"No," she said flatly. "I'll need them here. Either you leave them behind or you wait until after the attack."  
  
"It cannot wait. There are... time constraints," he replied with that infuriating serenity of his. Well, maybe it was time to shake some of that calm.  
  
The rapier reflected light in a white blur before it came to rest an inch from Jerrick's heart. "Then leave them," she said dangerously. She noted that the man didn't so much as blink. Her lips curled in what she felt must be an unpleasant smile.   
  
She felt adrenaline sing in her blood. Her body was strong and well; his was awkward and pain-riddled. Her smile widened cruelly and her voice lowered to a purr that emphasized her feline looks. "Tell you what; if you win a bout with me, you take the hunters with you. If I win, my orders stand."  
  
"I'll point out that the choice is theirs, not yours, but if it appeases you, I'll accept your challenge," he said, unruffled, taking her aback. Did he really think he could defeat her? She felt momentarily uncertain then shook herself. She had learned long ago not to give an opponent the upper hand with self-doubt.   
  
She lifted her chin, her blade never wavering from its position. "To first blood, then."   
  
He inclined his head in a courtly manner. And waited. She threw him a look of exasperation and lunged. There was a thud and she felt the blade in her hand reverberate from the impact with Jerrick's cane, which had swung up with amazing speed to deflect the blow.  
  
The offending stick was once again resting innocently on the floor when she looked at it. She sniffed disdainfully and nodded her head to indicate that the next move was his, a gesture he returned more graciously.  
  
Angered that he would not fight her, she moved and moved again, striking with ferocious strength. He parried each blow, making it look effortless. He did it so skillfully that her blade did not even leave dents on the smooth finish of the wood.  
  
Scowling, Crystal stepped up her attack, focused on drawing blood and ending the match. Not that it was much of one; Jerrick had not so much as moved an inch from his initial position, nor struck a single blow that was not in defense.   
  
"It's not a complete loss," he said, avoiding her blade. "Quite a number of the Turned and the witches are ready for actual combat, I've been told. They will supplement your numbers and they have the advantage of already being a cohesive working unit."  
  
She snarled in frustration as well as contempt at the thought of adding his weaklings to her force. "Cut the platitudes. Let's finish this."  
  
"As you wish," he said and then he shifted and entered the fight. The cane became a most effective weapon in his hands, part quarterstaff, part hook. The curved end caught her arm and wrenched her about.   
  
"They say that familiarity breeds contempt," Jerrick commented casually. A sharp rap on her shoulder caused pain to shoot up down her spine and up her neck. She whirled, banishing a quick, horrific flashback of her battle with Emery, when she felt his blade and his fangs enter her from behind. The remembered terror fueled her anger as she swung her blade full force at Jerrick.  
  
His cane met her blow but instead of trying to stop it, he ran with it, guiding it back into an upswing and then into a spiral. The cane entangled with the blade, the scraping of metal on wood filling the hall and echoing through the darkness. "In this case, it would appear to be true," he continued, sounding unfazed. He disengaged and set the cane back down, leaning lightly on it.   
  
Despite his posture of relaxation, he was met her next attack readily. "There are three simple rules you ought to have learned by now, Crystal," he commented. "Never lose your patience, don't let your opponent dictate the rules of the match and never underestimate your opponent."  
  
She growled at him for spouting rudimentary training principles as he reversed the cane smoothly. He caught her next swing, guided it as before. With the blade trapped in the hook and momentum carrying it forward, she didn't realize his intention until it was too late.  
  
With a deft twist and a nudge, he curled the blade inward and sliced through the sleeve of her black _gi_. Crystal stared at the thin line of scarlet that appeared, then felt the sting of the cut. Not as biting as the damage to her pride; she had just been bested by a cripple.  
  
"And of course," Jerrick added. "You should always be on guard." He inclined his head at her politely and withdrew.  
  
He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "I'll announce the upcoming attack after dinner. The arrangements for the other team had better be communicated privately, I think." With that, he left her to fume over her defeat and the ill-made challenge.  
  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know it was another long-winded piece. Yahoo, The Two Towers is out today! 


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight: Lessons in Life

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 20 December 2002  
  
~ Twenty Eight ~   
  
Three days had passed since the fracas with Samar over his drinking animal blood. The last delivery of blood bags the day before had included some basic supplies such as clothing and toiletries. The vampires had been bemused to find that Jerrick had apparently sent someone to their respective homes to collect the items.  
  
So far, Stefan had managed to avoid the volatile girl and her equally unstable brother. When he spent time with anyone at all, it was usually with the peaceful Leon as they browsed the books in companionable silence. Although they had far from exhausted the supply of reading material, the lack of activity was taking its toll on the vampire. Stefan paced his tiny bedroom restlessly, then decided to wander about outside. He passed the main room, which was empty, filled only with the monotonous ticking of the clock. Aimlessly, he ventured down the opposite passageway.  
  
The enforced idleness gave him ample time to think, something he was not altogether comfortable with, since he usually found himself dwelling on Elena or Damon.   
  
For the most part, he wondered what his brother would think of the entire situation Stefan had managed to get himself into. Stefan would hazard a guess that Damon's reaction would be mocking at the very least, more likely scathing.  
  
He had also wondered, once, what Damon would do if he found out that Elena was destroying all vampires. Would his ruthless brother kill the girl they had once fought over so bitterly?  
  
As for Elena, Stefan was still at a loss as to what to think. On one hand, according to Samar, she had been trying to protect him – a bittersweet revelation – and that she was not even aware that he was being held prisoner, much less responsible for it. Yet, how much was her care worth if she was out to get all his kind?  
  
At least he could think of her without feeling sick with pain now. That was progress, of a sort, he supposed.   
  
He heard a thud, then a crash and a strange clang of metal. Curious, he followed the sound to its source and paused just outside an open door at the far end of the corridor, presented with an unexpected, yet unsurprising sight.   
  
The contents of the room had been moved elsewhere or pushed up against the walls, leaving the middle empty. A number of items were scattered on the floor or among the stacked-up furniture, from kitchen implements to broken chair legs and pillows.   
  
In the midst of this mess, Makoe and Samar were fighting. It wasn't the formalized sparring of a training arena, nor was it an enraged bashing; this was somewhere in between. Samar shouted in rage or triumph more than once, although Makoe showed a marked lack of reaction. It was a peculiar situation where they would use anything within reach as a weapon, or fight barehanded as the situation warranted. Hearing Makoe's calm voice, Stefan realized that he was giving the girl pointers as they went along. Stefan watched, entranced.  
  
Abruptly Makoe called a halt, catching Samar's hand as it descended to deal a devastating blow with a skillet. She returned his bland look innocently, convincing Stefan that she had purposely ignored her instructor's order to stop.  
  
To his surprise, Makoe turned and motioned him into the room. Warily, he did so and stopped a few steps from the door.   
  
"You've been practicing with me so far," the compact vampire told his student. "Now, maybe you ought to try a different opponent," he gestured at Stefan who stood frozen. He could not gracefully back out but neither did he relish the idea of fighting Samar.  
  
From the expression on her face, the feeling was mutual. She stared at him penetratingly. Then alarmingly, she grinned and took a battle-ready stance. Stefan glanced uncertainly at Makoe to find him now perched on top of a table, one leg folded beneath him, the other drawn up to his chest and propping up a negligent arm.   
  
The next instant, he had to sidestep to avoid an on-rushing Samar. She pulled up short and faced him again. Without the advantage of surprise, or at least distraction on his part, she stalked up to him. As before, he did not retreat until she was a bare step in front of him.   
  
When he didn't make any move, Samar experimentally shoved him. He stepped back and waited. Rolling her eyes, she turned to her – their? – instructor with a look of hopeless exasperation on her face.   
  
"There are still men in the world who will refuse to cross swords with a girl. If he won't attack you, use it to your advantage," Makoe prompted her.   
  
Now her expression changed to one of glee. She hefted the skillet and ran at him with a yell meant to put fear in his heart. Stefan _was_ alarmed, but that was mostly because he was caught in an untenable position. His upbringing forbade his striking a female regardless of age or ability.  
  
::I'd fight, if I were you,:: came the calm advise. ::It is not only in love and flirtation that girls want a man to respond to them.::   
  
Aloud, he said, "Stefan, you should be making use of your superior reach." Without his conscious will, one hand snapped out and snatched the makeshift club out of Samar's hand and another planted itself squarely in the middle of her forehead. She flailed briefly, her shorter limbs unable to reach him.   
  
As he would deflect a blow, Stefan sidestepped again and let Samar charge past him. He stared at his own hands, and then at Makoe. He half-expected to see a devilish grin on the other vampire's face, but Makoe's expression was unemotional as he nodded. "That was one way of making greater reach work for you," he said. His tone hinted that it was not quite what he had meant about using the advantage, but he was giving Stefan points for effectiveness, if not style. Nothing in his manner indicated that he had just taken over Stefan's body without permission.  
  
The Italian vampire had no chance to make an issue out of it as Samar returned to exact retribution for the previously suffered indignity.   
  
Two hours later, Stefan had endured his share of humiliation, from tripping over a previously discarded cushion and sprawling gracelessly on the floor to being pummeled breathless to bleeding on – and being bled on by – the diminutive girl. Makoe had ruthlessly taken him over a few times initially – but never giving any outward hint of what he had done – when Stefan had refused to strike out at Samar, but eventually, Stefan had determined to react on his own. At least he would then have some measure of control.  
  
The stocky vampire had mostly called advice or biting comments during the bout but near the end, he had waded into the mêlée and taken them both on. Even with unfair odds, the short vampire had beaten them soundly.   
  
Now the three of them eyed each other, forming a curious triangle. He and Samar looked rather ragged due to the damage their clothes had sustained in the course of battle. Makoe, Stefan noticed a little sourly, was barely out of breath while the other two were panting visibly.  
  
::Don't blame me that you're out of shape,:: the unsympathetic comment sounded in his head. One corner of Stefan's mouth twitched. He was a little unused to such easy telepathy, particularly from someone he was unfamiliar with. Then again, he had had little to do with other vampires up till now, bar his brother.  
  
On a positive note, the last two hours had apparently allowed Samar to get her dislike for him out of her system. She didn't regard him fondly by any means but she looked less inclined to stake him given half the chance. Not that she hadn't tried in the beginning.   
  
::It appears that you would benefit from a little practice. And the hell-cat could use a new playmate. You might as well join us for our little sessions from now on,:: Makoe went on. ::There's little else to do around here for entertainment.::  
  
::Thank you for the offer,:: he returned a trifle dryly, not sure if he would actually take it up. He had a feeling, from the knowing look Makoe shot him, that he would have little choice when the time came. He ought to be irritated at the presumption but it was too small a matter to get worked up over. And besides, he was worn out.  
  
Later, lying on his bed with his hands tucked under his head and stoically ignoring the various bruises and pulled muscles his body complained of, Stefan realized that he felt vaguely good for the first time in almost a week.   
  
  
Author's Note: Hope you had fun with that. I know I did! But before anyone comments on the martial theme of the last few chapters, I don't know what got into me either! I _can_ say, however, that the next chapter will not be about fighting. Thanks for reading! 


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine: Conversations in th...

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:  
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 30 December 2002  
  
Author's Notes: Many apologies for the wait. Expect the next chapter sometime Wednesday or Thursday, I'd say. Happy New Year to you all, particularly the kind souls who've responded to my pleas for feedback!  
  
  
~ Twenty Nine ~  
  
Blood spurted from Elena's lips and her body bent in half. She remained in that position, putting out a hand blindly to grab the shoulder attached to the warm hands that supported her. She sank slowly to the ground, easing herself off her shaky legs with the help of the healer holding her.  
  
Safely on floor, she gasped for breath, detachedly noticing the red flecks on the gray-veined white marble. It took her a couple minutes to regain control enough to lift her head and meet concerned blue eyes. Madelene Ernst sat back on her heels and handed her a tissue for the nosebleed that had also started.  
  
The worried look darted to Jerrick. "I think we'd better stop. This is not working and it's hurting her."  
  
Elena followed her gaze and met the man's considering gaze. "We'll stop," he said, at length, "For tonight," he added, banishing Maddy's sigh of relief. She was a healer, first and foremost, and it cut her deeply to see Elena suffering as she struggled to transmute raw Power into healing energy.  
  
The woman shook her head vehemently. Leader or no, she would not comply with his unethical, uncaring orders without a fight. "We're leaving for the hunt in three days. She," and she pointed a firm finger at the shaking girl on the floor, "Will not have mastered the skills necessary in that time. If we keep this up, we'll only injure her seriously. So we'd better start thinking about alternatives, because teaching her to heal is not an option." Maddy's blue eyes were lighter then Elena's and at the moment, they were hard and uncompromising.   
  
Jerrick fixed her in a bland look that gave no clue as to what was going through his mind. Elena thought Madelene held her breath until he responded. "What if she channels the energy at you?"  
  
The healer considered this for a silent moment. "It sounds viable," she said slowly. "We sometimes meld our strength to heal serious or complex wounds and that's rather like having energy channeled into us–"  
  
"The amount of energy involved would burn you out," Elena broke in, her voice as unsteady as the rest of her.   
  
Jerrick stilled and Elena was struck by the thought that he did not appreciate her pointing that fact out to the other woman. Then, he nodded slowly. "Well, you've had more success with the witches, fortunately, and the diviners report that your skill is sufficient to handle some simple weather tweaks – work that requires more energy than expertise, I'm told. Splitting the Power among these three should eliminate that risk."  
  
Elena's mouth twisted at his cavalier tone. "I haven't tried doing all three at the same time. And doing so with feral, titanic Power in my hands... well, you'll understand if I'm a little less than gung-ho."  
  
"We'll definitely need a greater safety margin than that. Contingency for things going awry," Maddy put in, clearly siding with Elena.  
  
Jerrick seemed unaffected by being ganged up on. "As to the first," he addressed Elena, "We won't know until we try. And as to the second, we merely have to do the first enough so that you're able to handle it when the time comes."  
  
Both females stared at his overconfident statements with varying degrees of anger and disbelief. Reading the defiance in their demeanor, Jerrick's tone slid into a silky challenge, "Unless you have a better suggestion?"  
  
The girls exchanged glances, a quick, silent communion. Maddy raised her eyebrows inquiringly. Elena, faintly shuddering with weakness and pain could not string her thoughts together clearly enough to think of an alternative. She shook her head slowly, bowing in defeat.  
  
Jerrick's voice now hardened to implacability. "Then there is no more debate, for there is no choice. You _will_ do it, Elena, because you have to. You _will_ manage, or die – with all the rest – trying."  
  
***  
  
It was four in the morning, according to the clock.  
  
At least, Stefan was reasonably certain it was four in the _morning_, unless he had lost twelve hours somewhere along the way. He was sitting on the armchair facing the door – and consequently, the clock – watching the pendulum trace its monotonous journey across time.   
  
He should have been dead asleep, exhausted after the last marathon round with Samar and Makoe.   
  
After their initial encounter, he had decided to forgo further episodes. The petite girl had hunted him down – quite likely at the instruction of their pokerfaced instructor – when he had failed to appear for their session. When he had demurred, they had brought the lesson to _him_.   
  
He had resented the liberty and the coercion at first. Samar's genuine eagerness and Makoe's uncomplicated, if unreasoning insistence that he learn to fight, melted away the ill feeling after the first day. Stefan reflected, with a shade of humor, that beating someone up in a no-holds-barred manner broke down barriers of civility and formed bonds between individuals that usually took years of friendship to develop. Lately, they had spent their time cooling down and catching their breath in companionable talk. Samar carried the bulk of the conversation; Makoe didn't say much but lent a presence to the exchange. Stefan had been surprised to discover that Samar could be irrepressibly charming when not annoyed. Which was rare, but...  
  
::It's all good,:: the little voice of logic whispered in the stillness of the night and for once, Stefan agreed wholeheartedly.   
  
And yet, he couldn't sleep. Ironic that insomnia should develop now when he didn't have anything better to do.   
  
"Sleep has ever been a mystery," a quiet voice said suddenly. Stefan peered into the shadows of the right corridor to see Leon propping a shoulder against the wall. "Aristotle produced a discussion on the nature of sleep and waking, but till today no one can really say what causes sleep or dreams." The slender vampire moved to take the couch, facing Stefan. Instead of tipping his head back and shutting his eyes, as was his habit, he supported his head in one hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. The brown eyes regarded Stefan peacefully.  
  
Still waters run deep.   
  
The old adage leapt into Stefan's mind unbidden.   
  
"Aristotle believed that sleep originated from the heart," Stefan returned, recalling how he'd read that among the works of the great thinker's works. "And that it is simply caused by heaviness due to the absorption of nutrition. How did you know I was thinking about sleep?" he asked, although not as defensively as he might have, once upon a time. Maybe it was the whole prisoner thing, or maybe it was the late hour. Perspectives changed in the dead of night.  
  
The other's mouth quirked. "I've had the same conversation with myself often enough to have an idea," he answered. "It's ironic that one of the things an insomniac thinks about is sleep. You're settling in," he added, not referring to Stefan's current state, but a more general observation.   
  
Stefan assumed that Tristan and Leon were aware of the trio's antics, by the sounds of destruction, if nothing else. He had never seen either vampire during the matches, but then again, he had little attention to spare in those times.   
  
"Benefiting from Makoe's expertise," Stefan said politely, his muscles loosening as he slumped further into the chair in an effort to relax. The laid-back vampire's presence was strangely soothing and they fell into easy camaraderie born of hours of silent puttering among the cases of books.   
  
Leon smiled slightly. "You can guess how that arrangement came about in the first place," he commented. At Stefan's inquiring look, he elaborated. "How Makoe started giving Samar fighting lessons. She was angry with him for some reason one day and tried to make her displeasure felt – painfully. Makoe's very good at fighting, so she obviously didn't get very far. He began goading with sarcastic recommendations and since it was valid advice she listened. It happened a few more times before Samar came up with the idea to ask him to teach her how to fight properly."  
  
For the first time, Stefan wondered about their personal histories; how they had all become vampires and what they had been before. He cautiously asked Leon.  
  
"Ah, well, no great epic there. I was a colonist in the 1600s. I was mauled during a conflict with the Natives and was beyond help. A comrade at arms changed me to save my life," he said succinctly. "As for the others, their stories are not mine to tell. But I will say that you can ask; if they prefer not to reveal it, they'll just tell you so and with no harm done." Leon's phrasing shifted slightly as if talking about his past brought him back to that frame of mind.  
  
"Speaking of history, did I ever tell you how I first met your brother?" Stefan shook his head, feeling a familiar spark of interest. This time, he didn't bother to hide it. Leon smiled at some memory. Instead of launching into the account, however, he dipped the hand that had been holding his head below the end table at his elbow and withdrew a wooden box.  
  
"This is going to take a while. In the meantime, can I interest you in a game of chess?" he asked. The two small metal latches flicked open with a soft snap and inside the box were assorted figures in solid wood, half of them dark, half pale, with green felt at the bottom of each. The box itself became the chessboard.   
  
"Our Mr. Jerrick was kind enough to include this in the items he sent us," Leon said dryly, setting up the board on the coffee table between them when Stefan smiled in acceptance. Stefan inched his chair within easy reach of the board, mentally recalling how the game was went. He hadn't played in a very long time.  
  
They spoke deep into the night and one game led to another. There were times when the silence stretched, broken only by the running of the clock, but there was no awkwardness in those minutes.  
  
  
Author's Note: References made to Aristotle's _On Sleep and Sleeplessness_, translated by J.I. Beare. 


	31. Chapter Thirty: Groundwork

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 3 January 2003  
  
  
~ Thirty ~   
  
Death walked alone in the night, as he had for millennia. Amid the shadows that shrouded the gray streets of charming Quebec he walked, a tall figure swathed in a full length, cowled cloak that blended with the gloom. All that was missing was the gleam of a scythe in one hand and a ghostly white horse at one shoulder.  
  
The inhabitants of the streets nearby, perhaps sensing a threat, retreated and gathered together, hoping for safety – or at least anonymity – in numbers.   
  
Some hoped in vain.   
  
***  
  
Taura emerged from her room to find Elena and Madelene Ernst in intent conversation.  
  
"So you channel to myself and Alvin _first_. We'll signal you to stop when we've reached our limit," the healer paused and smiled faintly, "Actually, we'll do you one better. I think Alvin should have no trouble putting a barrier of sorts to cut off the flow. That'll save you some effort and attention for Trent and weather-working."  
  
"Gee," Taura drawled before Elena could say anything, "That sure sounded technical. Did you get that at all, Elena?" She plopped herself abruptly down on the leather couch, jostling the other two occupants. The healer, who was quite well acquainted with the diminutive hunter after the latter's four broken limbs, sent her a quelling look, and a long-suffering one at that, and missed the twitch on Elena's lips.   
  
Maddy drew a breath to speak, but was distracted by Eiran who emerged from the kitchenette that was tucked into a corner of the suite. He carried two cups on saucers, the contents of which steamed visibly. As the ex-vampire handed one of the cups to Elena, Taura could see that it contained a light amber fluid.   
  
"Are we being English today?" the elfin huntress asked, amused. "And how come Elena gets the special treatment, eh?" she demanded pointedly. She put on a severe expression, raised eyebrows indicating herself and Maddy who were both without beverages, and hid a grin. Occasionally, she got a barb in on how Eiran pampered Elena and while he obviously spoiled her all the time, he did it so unobtrusively that Taura didn't get many good opportunities to jibe him about it.  
  
She assumed that he was getting used to the teasing by now; no blushing and bluster this time. "How remiss of me," he said blandly. "Would you ladies care for a spot of tea?" Taura wrinkled her nose at such phrasing but made a show of nodding graciously. "One sugar, hold the milk," she instructed. Maddy murmured that she drank her tea black and, setting his cup and saucer down on the coffee table, Eiran dutifully went back to get their drinks.  
  
He was setting the appropriately prepared cups in front of each girl when Taura spied a fifth person entering the room.   
  
Ranulf Trenton, or Trent as he was called, scowled when he saw her looking at him. "Bloody hell, Taura, it's barely been two hours since we got here; you _can't_ be having cabin fever already," he growled. "I could hear you baiting everyone from down the hall," he added sourly.  
  
Taura smiled sweetly and instead of responding to his accusations, lifted her teacup invitingly. "Care for some tea, Trent?" she asked and had to grin at his shudder.   
  
"I'd rather drink water," he said, his tone making it clear how much he liked _that_ option. He settled himself onto a padded stool. Taura irreverently thought that he rather resembled a large, squat toad in that position, but refrained from comment.   
  
She took a deliberate sip from her cup, causing the tea-hating Trent to shudder again violently. Oh, she was having fun already!  
  
"My compliments, Eiran," Maddy murmured beside her and Taura nodded stoutly to second the sentiment. Maddy must know about these things, Taura supposed, being a healer and knowledgeable about herbs and all. For herself, the petite slayer was not much of a tea-drinker, but it _was_ nice of the ex-vamp to be so accommodating.   
  
With careless disregard towards the fragility of the crockery, Taura set down the china and asked briskly: "So what now, people?"  
  
Sure, they'd given her a mission brief before she agreed to come along, but it had been sketchy at best. Taura looked about the group. The other four were all previously non-combatants and she realized belatedly that they would have even less of an idea than she of what to expect. The only experienced fighters of the group were absent: Alvin Maples, a combat witch and Karen Oliver, markswoman elite. Trent was a diviner; weather working was his specialty and Taura understood that the large man had been Elena's tutor in that aspect of her skills.  
  
It had come as a bit of a shock to find out what exactly Elena did. Everyone had assumed that she could change vampires back into humans, making it easier to eliminate them. Taura wasn't sure if the other members of the team had known beforehand, but she and Karen had had no clue that the blonde had the ability to unmake Originals, those legendary all-powerful first vampires. It didn't bother either of them that the entire prophecy, secret-weapon-against-vampires thing had been a ruse to draw out Nigel Emery. The hunters used Elena, she used them right back; it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.  
  
Well, of course Taura had accepted the invitation to join the task force. Hunting an Old One? She wouldn't have missed it for the world!   
  
"I would suppose once everyone's caught their breath and rested, we'll have a more detailed briefing," Elena ventured when no one had a ready answer. "Jerrick would have a better idea on the game plan," she trailed off at the end of that statement, her gaze straying in the direction of the closed door of the witch's room. Taura thought she caught something in Elena's eyes. A brooding, smothering sullenness. The huntress felt a stab of consternation.  
  
As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened and the crippled man exited his room. Eiran, who had been drinking his tea quietly, rose and went to fetch the other two members of their team.  
  
When they were all present, Jerrick gathered each of them in with his gaze. "We must act quickly, but with care. Our target has been in the city for a bare ten days but we have no way of knowing when he will decide to move on. Once he does, it may be difficult to locate him again," he opened. There were a few nods of understanding around the circle but Taura noted that Elena remained motionless, simply watching Jerrick with steady, almost unblinking eyes.   
  
"I have been in touch with my contacts here," he went on and produced a map that he spread out on the coffee table. Two wide swathes had been highlighted in bright yellow in different quadrants of the city and stood out against the pale blue of the rest of the illustration. "So far, the target's activities have been limited to these two areas. There seems to be no apparent pattern to where he strikes, which is a bit of a problem considering the physical distance between the two hunting grounds."  
  
"Not to mention the size of each of those sectors," Alvin observed. He was a golden boy with bronzed skin, sun streaked blond hair and light brown eyes. At the moment his face was serious and attentive but Taura was more used to him looking… well, aggressive was a word that came to mind. Not in the all-muscle-no-brain sense; it was more that he looked competent and... hungry when on the job.  
  
"Yes," Jerrick agreed easily. "A point I'll mention now – which can be viewed as an advantage or not – is that he will be alone. No great host of vampires to tackle this time. That's not to say that this mission will be any less dangerous." His voice rose as if to override the three combatants, who had started to speak. "It merely means that our strategy will be relatively simpler. Now, the first step is–"  
  
***  
  
Reconnaissance.   
  
When Jerrick had listed it as step one, Elena had not been expecting _this_.  
  
She stood in the middle of a narrow lane sandwiched between two buildings, barely aware of Eiran, hovering silent, pale and watchful at her shoulder. The thin strip of night sky overhead was blotted with clouds and shed no moonlight on the back lane. Each member of the strike force held a flashlight and six other rays bobbed and danced, stilling and then moving on. The night was punctuated with hoarse exclamations or savage, sibilant words.  
  
They were in the old district of the city. The buildings around them were dark and silent. A streetlight at the end of the lane limned the uneven stones of the structures and the cobblestones underfoot in silver.   
  
The road sloped downhill so that one building was built at a slightly higher level than the other. Despite her boots, Elena had to be careful not to lose her balance for the cobbles were uneven.  
  
And in certain places, the street was slick with blood.  
  
Elena looked about, playing the beam of her flashlight over the grisly scene. This was no feeding. It was a bloodbath, a massacre. Horror stole force from her reaction. She thought, with disgusted bitterness, that if this was how the Old One habitually hunted, it could not be too difficult to track him.  
  
However, having witnessed this carnage, she would not allow him to repeat the performance.  
  
Thankfully, the remains of the victims had been removed – Elena wasn't sure by whom – but individual pools of blood marked the spot where each life had been stolen. She counted eight, although one stain bordered a second, pitifully small one. A lump of fabric, barely recognizable for the child's battered toy that it was, lay near the smaller mark.  
  
Her jaw hurt from her clenching it so hard. She didn't know what it was she felt; pity, rage and a cold chill at the ruthlessness of a being who could do this for absolutely no reason. Her mood, already sour with resentment towards Jerrick's uncaring, single-mindedness to complete the task, plunged.  
  
The scene before overlaid itself with the memory of Kier Achmed casually slaughtering Crystal. ::They are inhuman.:: The realization struck her anew. She was reminded of Vickie Bennett and what the others had said Klaus did to her. ::They are monsters!::  
  
In that moment, Elena forgot her doubts about her ability, her fear for the consequences. Only one thing mattered and that was eliminating the plague on humanity that was the Old Ones. She felt, for the first time, a fierce satisfaction that she would be the one to wipe them out.  
  
Every last one. 


	32. Chapter Thirty One: Engagement

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 6 January 2003  
  
  
~ Thirty One ~  
  
It was done.  
  
All preparations that could be made, had been made. The Baron mansion was lit like a torch, external floodlights ensuring that any attack would not come unnoticed while protecting the occupants of the house from becoming sitting ducks, silhouetted in the windows.  
  
The attack would come tonight. Jerrick had been able to tell them that much before he left. ::He'd better have been right!:: Crystal growled to herself.   
  
The call to stations had gone out bare minutes ago, but everyone was already settled in their assigned positions and waiting in silence. Crystal had to grudgingly admit that the former non-combatants had not done too shoddily. So far. The true test would be when the battle ensued.  
  
She alone drifted from one attack force to another. Two hundred humans against – according to Jerrick – more than a hundred vampires. Crystal had been unable to boost her numbers as much as she'd like and the few she had found were not of the caliber of her earlier batch of recruits. Still, two-to-one odds were not impossible. Considering the difference in physical ability between a human and a vampire, the disparity in numbers set the two sides on equal footing. The advantage of home ground was offset by the danger of the untried members of the defenders.   
  
No, Crystal couldn't predict the outcome of this night. The absence of her little knife-fighter and her elegant sharpshooter stung out of proportion to actual loss. Taura and Karen's presence might have tipped the balance – not just for their kills but for the confidence and optimism their competence would have instilled.  
  
Still, one made the best of what one had and Crystal was too shrewd a combat leader to hold petty grudges in the midst of a fight. Afterwards, yes, but now, she would treat each member of her team, hunter or ex-vampire or witch, with equal consideration.  
  
"Here they come!" The shout came from Jason, perched on the wide ledge of a window above the immaculate spiral stairway. One square of the French windows had been removed to allow him to shoot through it.   
  
He drew a bead on the leading edge of the vampiric charge and let fly when they were ten paces from the front door. The force of the bolt flung an over eager vamp off his feet and sent him crashing into the unfortunate colleague behind him. The wave scarcely paused, save for the brief disruption the hit caused in the ranks.  
  
Crystal nodded to the hunter beside her and went to take her position, just as the first wave reached the house. Vampires parted to admit a half dozen dazed humans in their midst. These stumbled through the threshold and robotically began inviting the vampires in. The first vampires through the door defended their human 'sappers' from the hunters, buying time for the rest of their forces to get into the mansion. For their part, the hunters would have been content to knock the influenced human out, but if the need arose, they would not hesitate to kill them.  
  
Well, isn't that ironic, Crystal mused, mounting the stairs.  
  
***  
  
Death was puzzled.  
  
He had wandered the streets for a good hour and all the places that held prey were strangely empty. Where have all the pitiful dregs of human society gone?  
  
His unhurried, gliding pace never changed as he flitted from one secluded path to another. Perhaps his antics two days hence had sent the entire community into hiding. No matter; he would find other quarry, he thought, firm in his confidence. They cannot elude me forever.  
  
***  
  
"Move!" Seth shouted furiously. Sheila batted away a knife with her flexible lance, sending a gleaming black gun flying as the stick rebounded to crack sharply on the vampire's hand. She drew back another step, trying to obey Seth's command to fall back as quickly as she could.  
  
The vampire struck like lightning. She didn't even see his hand move to catch the end of her staff and yank her forward. Taken by surprise, Sheila didn't have the wisdom to release the spear. Her momentum carried her straight into the reach of the invading vampires.  
  
She didn't even hear Seth screaming her name as hard, cold hands dragged her towards the press of bodies and she was submerged in pain.  
  
***  
  
He was getting tired of this. Death paused in yet another empty alleyway – how _could_ they all be empty? The brow within the inky cowl furrowed and Death sent out a questing thought.   
  
There! The bright glow of minds drew him two blocks down, to quiet little lane. It wasn't too far from where he'd had his frolic two nights ago, actually. He paused to survey the occupants of the hovel, backlit by the streetlamp. Miserable brown lumps of suffering huddled among cardboard and rags. One rocked continuously to a melody and purpose only it understood. Most were deathly still with only an occasional twitch to mark the life within them.  
  
He considered each individual critically, selecting his target. The little fête of two nights past was _not_ his usual style, but that particular band of humanity had been especially pitiful and Death had seen no reason not to arrange a mutually satisfying turn of events; an end to their suffering and enjoyment for himself.  
  
This lot may be little better, he thought as he stepped deeper into the alley. He paused beside one oldster, whimpering in his sleep and bent with the fingers of one hand stretched out as if in benediction.   
  
He paused as a new, long shadow covered the little alley. _This_ silhouette was rimmed with light, not darkness. The figure was cloaked as he, but in incandescent white rather than deep gloom. The golden locks flowing out from beneath the cowl glinted in the light.   
  
He sensed a challenge. Or perhaps a trap. He almost laughed, save that it was not part of his nature. Was _this_ was it was all about? The mysterious lack of prey this night? Did this lone female think to add another vampire to her kill ratings? Did she know what it was she faced?  
  
He straightened leisurely, withdrawing the outstretched hand. He had only taken a single step towards her when three of the other denizens of the alley rose and shed their concealing rags. From the arms they bore, Death guessed that they were indeed vampire hunters. Four of them – five, counting the sniper on the roof – against him; they knew something of what they faced then.  
  
Unseen, Death's eyes glinted hungrily. They were still too few against a being that _could not die_.  
  
But things were getting interesting all the same.   
  
***  
  
Green eyes glittered in the darkness, a waiting gleam in their depths. Crystal stood motionless in the shadow, watching while anticipation fired her blood. On the wall beside her, a shadow play was enacted, mirroring the struggle between the vampire and human. Predictably, the hunter was cast aside, and dismissed for all that he still drew breath; the vampire lord was intent on a foe worthy of his attention – the Enemy, who by all accounts awaited in the attic.  
  
Eagerness twisting his lips, he mounted the stairs. Movement at the top caught his eye; the gleam of laminated wood. Another human stood before him, idly twirling a wooden sword in one hand. He recognized her from the descriptions of vampires who have encountered this particular huntress – and lived to tell of it. Her red hair was darkened to almost black in the shadow but her green eyes glowed in the dark eerily like a cat's and her bearing held an almost vampiric superiority.  
  
"You're not the Enemy," he rasped, barely audible. His extended fangs lent a slight sibilance to his words. She remained where she was, leaning casually against the wall, one leg bent with the foot flat vertically.  
  
"No," she agreed. "I'm not."   
  
He did not hesitate but struck first, taking the advantage of initiative. Her foot against the wall propelled her forward with vicious speed as she met his strike. The battle was joined.  
  
***  
  
The white lady was the key.   
  
Death knew this instinctively, having watched human group behavior for time immemorial. She was the heart and soul of the band, the trap, the bait. The challenger, the challenge. In a situation where the prey wished to escape, he would target the female, for without her, the attack would be blunted and impotent.   
  
That was not the case here. To a being invulnerable and immortal, the circumstances were an ideal opportunity to... play.  
  
She was the leader and her vulnerable point, he knew, would be her companions. Like the captain of a ship, the worst thing he could do to her was to make her watch helplessly while he destroyed her people.   
  
With that in mind, he turned to the closest of the band; an elfin girl holding twin knives in her hand. A string of throwing knives was belted about her slim waist. The foolish girl actually looked excited when he took a step towards her.  
  
Once again, his hand reached out as to deliver a gentle blessing. Once again, he was halted. The white lady spoke and her words changed... everything  
  
"_Darahdha_, Ambrose Meremoth." [[Greetings, Ambrose Meremoth.]]  
  
***  
  
The vampire was faster and stronger – that went without saying.   
  
Crystal crouched in a battle-ready stance, watching her opponent closely. Her blood sang with adrenaline and triumph. She had reaffirmed her abilities tonight, proven it to herself time and again with each vampire she had staked. Being defeated first by Kier Achmed and then by the crippled Jerrick had shaken her confidence more than she cared to admit. But now, there was no doubting herself. Not at all.  
  
She had set aside her blade during the previous fight; in the tight confines of the corridor where she now stood, the sword hampered her movements, as the vampire facing her was discovering.   
  
Yes, he had inhuman speed and supernatural strength. But that didn't make up for his complete lack of hand-to-hand technique. And under these circumstances, it was she who had the advantage.   
  
It was almost child's play to break his nose, then his hand and let his blade clatter to the ground. Spin him around, dislocate his shoulder, break his neck. She slid the short wooden knife out of her boot sheath and staked him through the heart from behind.  
  
When no other opponent appeared, she stepped over the quickly mummifying body and made her way – alertly, warily – down the stairs. There were pockets of fighting scattered throughout the huge dwelling, but those were quickly ended as humans went to the aid of their fellows.  
  
The second vampire attack was drawing to a close. This time, there had been no weirdling storm, no shattering defeat to scare away the vampires. It had been a fight to the end. Dust – all that remained of the vampires – coated everything.   
  
Dust and blood.  
  
Of the two hundred humans who had started out the battle, perhaps sixty remained. Among these, most bore wounds. Terrible losses, no doubt, but considering that the numbers had been matched in the beginning, the survival rate was impressive. In return, no more than a double handful of vampires had managed to escape.   
  
Crystal moved from one room to another, from one level to the next, checking for vampires lurking about, looking for any more unfinished fights. She saw many bodies in the various rooms, sprawled on the ground or draped over furniture. Some were survivors catching their breath but most were corpses of comrades, lying where they had fallen and died.  
  
The leader of the hunters forced herself to deal with the incredible loss of life. She had seen many battles by now; odd that she was not hardened to it yet. She sent word for the servants to return and begin cleaning up, gathering the dead and making appropriate arrangements, etc. The healers that Jerrick had left with her were already hard at work, setting up the wardroom, directing the able-bodied to move the injured and so on.  
  
She received the reports from her seconds-in-command calmly. She told them that they'd all done well. Yes, even the greenies, the ex-vampires and the witches. She made a comment about how a celebration was in order. Not right away, of course, but soon.   
  
She kept her outward appearance confident and upbeat; showed them that all was well, told them what a great victory they had won! She was their leader, after all. Such was her responsibility.   
  
  
Author's Note: 'Darahdha' can be loosely translated into 'Greetings'. For future reference on the Old One's Name, Ambrose Meremoth means 'the immortal harbinger of death'. 


	33. Chapter Thirty Two: Death

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 9 January 2003  
  
Author's Notes: Taura obviously does not know the Old Ones' language but I know how frustrating it can be to scroll to the bottom of the page for translations, so I'm going to put them in brackets [[like so]]. I hope you find this arrangement more pleasing. It's for reference only, and not really part of the text (Yeah, read it but otherwise imagine that it's not there). Also note that these are not direct translations; syntax, grammar, etc are slightly different. This is basically what would be said if it had been said in English. Phew, what a long-winded note. =)  
  
  
~ Thirty Two ~  
  
So close. He was _so close_. And Elena had to spoil it.  
  
The cloaked specter withdrew, stepping squarely back into the middle of the alley to face the bright-garbed figure. Behind him, the pathetic-looking bundles of humanity rose and shuffled off, some helping others to retreat to safety. Taura supposed that Jerrick must have given his contacts a silent signal to withdraw with the genuine street people whom they had used for bait.  
  
The dark one took three steps forward. "_Kirr an', ce'rani, e'ya tenua y'juhnua dara?_" [[How is it, female, that you speak the language of my brethren?]] Although she could not understand the melodic words, the man's – using the term loosely – tone was suspicious, faintly challenging, but there was something else there too. "_Kirr an' e'ya kentri na'em kacheyth?_" [[How is it you know my Name?]]  
  
Elena moved forward, seeming to glide. A pool of radiance, softly shining. Watching her, Taura whispered to herself, ::She's beautiful.::  
  
"_Nai'e carth'e e'ya,_" [[I am a part of you,]] she replied, the words sounding completely natural. Taura was no linguist but she didn't think that it was any human tongue she was hearing.  
  
"What are they saying?" she muttered, leaning towards Alvin. The combat witch merely shrugged, eyes intent on the pair.  
  
She couldn't see the Old One's expression with his face hidden within the inky cowl, but Taura thought Elena's brief response had managed to shock him. "_Kae e'ya na?_" [[Who are you?]] The words came out much softer this time, breathy. Taura fancied a tad of disbelief in the timbre of the voice.   
  
"_Nai'e e'yl noekhir._" [[I am your fate.]]   
  
Somehow, the blonde's tone had turned to honey, irresistible and compelling. She reached out a hand to her opponent, palm up as if inviting him to take it. She continued to draw close to him with slow, graceful steps. "If I didn't know better," the petite hunter muttered. "I'd say she was trying to seduce him."  
  
"_E'yl methni._" [[Your completion.]] The watchers were amazed to see the other's hand come up to take hers. More astounding still, their joined hands rose to disappear within the darkened cave of the hood. It was easy to imagine that Elena was actually cupping the Old One's face in her palm.  
  
::What is she doing?:: Elena's hood slipped off her head as she turned her face up to his. The angle prevented the shorter Taura from reading her expression.   
  
Taura's hand didn't know whether to clench on the hilts of her throwing knives or to relax and fall to her side. Beside her, she felt the faint, crackling static of Alvin's gathered magic dissipate. If she could have, Taura would have torn her eyes away from the duo to check the others' reaction.  
  
As it was, her stare was firmly locked on the strange pair, light and dark, predator and would-be prey. Did the man's shoulders rise and fall slightly, as if in a sigh?   
  
"_E'yl methrani._" [[Your ending.]] Taura was stunned at the change in Elena's inflection. The blonde's voice had hardened in an instant, turning cold beyond imagination, as cruel as a serrated edge. Although they couldn't understand what she said, her words chilled the watching hunters and mystics alike. Her hand shifted and Taura guessed that she had clamped her fingers on top of the Old One's head. His hand, in turn, reemerged from the hood and clenched in midair.  
  
A scream rent the night. In sheer volume and pitch, it deafened. The agony, the loss and betrayal it expressed was like a knife in the belly. Taura opened her eyes when the first sting of the cry had died marginally, to see the dark figure sink to his knees before the shining form. Elena kept her hold on him, her arm descending as he crumpled.   
  
_Now_ her expression was visible and terrible to behold. Her eyes were huge and blazing, her lips parted to show clenched teeth. She looked savage, bordering on demented, as she stared down at her victim, with no mercy or horror.   
  
The other's hood slid off and Taura gasped. That he was beautiful was a given. What stole her breath was the fact that he could have been Elena's twin brother, for they shared the same fair skin and pale gold hair. The eyes that were clenched in pain sprang open to reveal deep blue irises, the pupils contracted to pinpricks of darkness.   
  
If she was disconcerted, Elena was _not_. She never faltered, never so much as flinched. "_Nai'e etho d'etho._" [[I am death to death.]]  
  
This time, Taura was sure she saw the man's shoulders heave. A strange sound emitted from him.   
  
"_Keldara e'naem dara? S'kahyr? Kah'r nu ell, e'yahwr t',_" [[Betrayed by my own kin, am I? Why? When one falls, so do we all,]] he found the breath to gasp out.  
  
The elfin slayer thought at first that Elena was doing something else to him, but slowly realized that the racking sound was laughter.  
  
"_E'yahwr t'!_" [[So do we all!]]  
  
The laughter seemed to sap the last of his strength and he bent even lower, shoulder shaking. Elena placed her other hand atop his head and closed her eyes in concentration. Taura held her breath; it was starting! Elena was beginning to unmake the Original.  
  
Suddenly, the crouched figure moved, swiftly and without warning. Elena stiffened, eyes springing open in shock.   
  
Taura couldn't tell what had happened. She shifted closer to Alvin and went on tiptoe, craning her neck. Then she saw the scarlet ring blossoming on the white silk of Elena's dress. The Old One raised his head to meet Elena's eyes, keeping his hand on the hilt of the blade buried in her middle. Now, it was he who looked triumphant. "_E'ya k'sh... a etho... eakh k'tani elmet... etho... e'yem,_" [[You cannot be death if you have never experienced it yourself,]] he panted painfully.   
  
::We should attack,:: Taura told to herself. She should run forward and slice the vampire to ribbons. Alvin should burn him to a husk with his magic. Karen should shoot him full of holes. Eiran–  
  
As if he had heard her, the ex-vampire sprang into action. He abandoned his bow and arrow, fists clenched to allow the savage wooden claws full access. The Old One didn't even look when the enraged boy charged towards them. He simply raised his free hand in a warding gesture, never taking his eyes from Elena's.   
  
An invisible hand picked the Turned up and threw him back against the wall as if he were a leaf in the wind. The sick, wet sound of breaking bone was clearly heard, followed by stunned silence. The crumpled figure slumped against the wall and did not stir. Goaded into movement, Taura threw one of her knives without making a conscious decision to do so. The weapon not only failed to reach its target, it carved an elliptical arch and tried to draw her blood instead. She ducked; the blade sang a soft note as it rebounded off the gray-stone wall behind her. It landed on the floor at her feet with a sour clank.  
  
For moments, all that was heard was the ragged breathing of the two cloaked figures. Blood began to drip from the hem of Elena's dress. Lapis eyes locked on each other. Their audience was frozen and anguished. There was a communal gasp when the Old One's hand twisted the blade. Elena blanched and her expression was one that a confused, dying child might wear. One hand slipped from the vampire's head and covered his hand on the hilt.  
  
::Oh, shit,:: Taura thought desperately, her gaze unblinking. ::If she buys it, we're all _so_ dead.:: At the same time, the part of her that believed in a clean kill wanted to shout for the Old One to end it quickly rather than prolong her pain.  
  
Elena's face lost its bewildered look and hardened. The next instant, another tormented cry split the air. The Old One let go of his blade and grasped the wrist above his head with both hands.   
  
"_Mae, naii a'tu kentri etho,_" [[Oh, but I have known death.]] she snarled at him so softly that Taura had to strain to make out the sound. Elena must have done something else that they couldn't see because he screamed again with fresh suffering.  
  
To the watching humans, it seemed as if Elena's glow ran down her hand and encompassed the Original. The light increased so that it was hard to make him out. Then the shining cocoon contracted... shrunk...   
  
Taura could not believe her eyes; he was gone!  
  
Elena swayed, unsupported now. She let out a strangled cry, "Mad-" and then collapsed.  
  
"No..." The denial slipped out of Taura's lips. Elena couldn't lose it now! They all knew that she had to deal with the Power left unanchored by an Old One's undoing. Even as the thoughts ran through her mind, the healer dashed to the white shape on the ground.   
  
Overhead, lightning began to zigzag across the sky. The air was heavy with static, much like when Alvin gathered his power except that this was a thousand times stronger. Madelene's low, non-stop monologue reached Taura's ears in snatches and bits.  
  
"...just have to learn to heal on the fly... some good may come of this, yet... Alvin! Get here!... going to link to you both. You _catch_ and use the Power for stores... where's that fat diviner?...I can heal her, I can heal her," this was murmured more to herself, "... be in time, don't worry... I can do this...have to get that blasted blade out..."  
  
The healer's hands were smeared crimson, as were the knees of her jeans where she knelt in the pool of blood. So much blood – how can anyone survive? Maddy's healing energy was seen as a blue-ish light. She pulled the knife out of Elena with one hand and slapped the other – which was incandescent with Power – on the wound.   
  
A deep rumbling beneath Taura's feet made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. The night almost felt electric with pent up energy now. This couldn't hold for long...  
  
"And done!" Maddy cried, triumph mixed with relief. "Alvin, how are we doing over there?"  
  
"Keep it coming, keep it coming!" Trent dumped a large bag beside the witch, who began taking out one object after another; earthenware, all manner of jewellery, scepters and assorted hand-staffs, a folded up cloak. Taura knew, from their briefing, that these were magical items and he was storing energy in them – sort of like charging the batteries – for future use.   
  
::Too slow,:: she wanted to scream at them, but knew it wouldn't do any good. They were already trying their best.   
  
"I'm going to divert some – Eiran needs help!" Maddy warned. The golden witch spared the attention to give a single decisive nod, concentrating on settling the power into his artifacts.  
  
As the healer sprinted towards the quiet form on one side, Taura watched Elena's eyelids flutter, then lift. She nearly cheered but was too tense and didn't seem to have much motor control. The blonde was momentarily disoriented, then one hand went to the bloody patch in her middle, where only smooth skin remained. She tried to get up and Taura found beside the girl suddenly, helping her to rise. Elena smiled her thanks quickly but wasted neither breath nor time beyond that.  
  
Her eyes unfocused and she seemed to do a mental check, then she nodded. One glance was flicked to Alvin, whose pile of 'uncharged' objects was diminishing rapidly. A second look was shot at Maddy and when Elena realized who the healer was helping, she strode over there rapidly, her bloodied white clothes fluttering bright in the gloom. Taura couldn't be sure but she thought the two women joined in healing Eiran.  
  
::No, idiot! The city, the world! Not the boy!:: she thought frantically. She bounced on her toes a little in agitation. Before she'd worked herself up to scream out loud, Elena reached out a gentle hand to touch Eiran's forehead then left him in Maddy's capable hands and went to Trent.   
  
"That's it!" Alvin said, making a slashing motion with his hand.   
  
"Perfect timing," Elena called to him and told Taura as she ran past her, "Don't worry. I can hold it for a while as long as there is some outlet, no matter how small." Somehow, she'd known what the petite hunter had been fretting about.  
  
Taura was still staring after her in thought when Karen arrived, still wearing her night-vision goggles. "Well. That was exciting," the markswoman said sardonically. "So it's a matter of cleaning up and knotting the loose ends now, is it?"  
  
"A mighty big knot, Oliver," the petite girl replied, watching Elena and Trent standing facing each other, heads bent, hands joined. Out of context, one might think they were praying. The lightning had not gone away, nor had the rumbling underfoot, although neither had gotten to the stage where they were life threatening – yet.  
  
"It's working," Maddy said, appearing beside them. "I can feel it." One of Eiran's arms was about her shoulder as she supported him. "You okay, tea-guy?" Taura spared him a concerned look.   
  
"Okay is about right," he assured. With a bag slung over his shoulder like a strange and golden Santa, Alvin joined them. All five watched the weather-worker and his assistant in silence and anticipation.   
  
Maddy was right, they _could_ feel the tension lightening. At least Taura didn't feel like her hair would start standing on end any minute. "Yes... yes..." Maddy whispered.  
  
And then, suddenly, it was over. The world returned to bland normalcy; no electric air, no lightning in clear skies, no be imminent earthquake. "Somewhere," Maddy said quietly, "A drought's been broken and famine has been diverted."  
  
All the waiting, the planning, the preparation. The adrenaline and expectation. Over.  
  
Taura sagged against Karen in relief, hearing her sigh echoed by the others. And then she straightened.   
  
"That's it?! And all I got to do was throw _one_, measly knife?" she demanded indignantly. "And it wasn't even a hit!"  
  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for reading! Please share your thoughts on the chapter! 


	34. Chapter Thirty Three: Discoveries

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 14 January 2003  
  
Author's Note: I'm beginning to wonder if anyone's still following this story. I've received nary review nor feedback of late and am feeling its lack rather keenly. If you are reading, please drop me a note. You like it, you hate it, I'm boring you to tears? Your interest is much appreciated and your support a blessing!  
  
  
~ Thirty Three ~  
  
A faint, unmistakable sound reached Samar's ears and her head snapped up like an alert deer's. "No way," she breathed. And then the sound came again and she was sure of it. She gladly abandoned the toaster she was idly taking apart, jumped up and sprinted in the direction of the sound.   
  
Stefan turned his head to acknowledge her entry and was, of course, slightly startled when she ignored him, snatched his new finding out of his grasp and disappeared as precipitously as she had appeared. He shot an inquiring glance at Leon then at Makoe who appeared in the doorway after Samar left. The slim vampire wore a slight smile and got to his feet.   
  
Mystified, Stefan also rose and followed his new companions. Somewhere in their prison, Samar's voice drifted back to them, sing-song, "Oh, Tristan, look what I've got!"  
  
A short silence, then Samar again, "Now, now, you have to ask _nicely_." Another pause, and then Samar's voice took on the strident that were all too familiar. "Oh, yeah? Well, I'd like to see you try! It'll be so much fun to ornament your head with this little toy! I'm sure it would an improvement on your looks!"  
  
At this point, the trio arrived at Tristan's room. The tall vampire had his hands extended, trying to grab the guitar while Samar held it out of his grasp. Her arm was cocked back as if she really was about to anoint her brother with the instrument. Her slim fingers barely met around its neck but her hold was negligent, as if it didn't weigh much; the position would have been incongruous if she'd been human.   
  
Stefan had no doubt that Samar could make good her threat. After two weeks of training with her, he knew very well what she was capable of. Tristan didn't do bare-handed combat; he used weapons. Samar could and did fight with whatever was available.  
  
The same thought might have been going through Tristan's mind along with his awareness of their audience. "Come on, Samar, quit acting like a preteen and give me that guitar."  
  
His sister waggled the object of contention admonishingly. "I didn't hear the magic word."  
  
"Now!" he thundered.  
  
"Hah!" was the unimpressed response.   
  
Tristan's eyes narrowed and a growl sounded low in his throat. "Please," he ground out.   
  
"Now, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Samar said sweetly and flipped the instrument deftly in front of her to present it two-handed with a slight bow. The tall vampire snatched it ungraciously and ran fervent fingers over the honeyed, gleaming wood.  
  
But Samar wasn't done yet. "Actually, Tristan, it was Stefan who found it," she said innocently. She earned herself a death glare with that little tidbit, but only continued to smile angelically at him. Everyone paused. "Will you go away if I do this?" he asked, finally. Samar nodded amiably.  
  
Perhaps Tristan was loath to provide more entertainment for the watching trio. Or maybe he just wanted his sister to stop plaguing him. Shooting a sharp look at Stefan, he snapped, "Thank you."   
  
Stefan nodded, not trusting himself to say anything and then Tristan pointedly turned his back to them. Tactfully, the three men in the hallway withdrew. Samar came skipping after them several moments later, looking very smug. The four of them heard the soft strains of Tristan tuning the guitar as they left.  
  
"He's been so out of it," Samar confided when they had settled back into the cramped storeroom. "I mean, we've all been bored out of our minds, but at least you had your books," she nodded to Leon, "And we've been sparring," she looked at Stefan and Makoe. "But that antisocial worrywart," she hooked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate her brother, "Really _has_ done nothing but mope and stare at the ceiling of his cell for the past two weeks! At least now, he'll keep busy with something productive. Maybe he'll even write a couple of new songs."  
  
Seeing the look on Stefan's face, she explained, "Tristan's a musician. He plays the guitar, the bass and occasionally the drums and he composes."  
  
"Yes," Makoe drawled, "Our Tristan is something of a part-time artist. He takes his music seriously enough," he added before Samar could correct him, "But he only performs half the time."  
  
"Just like you only moonlight in the body shop when you feel like it and Leon's a part-time lecturer at the college," Samar retorted impatiently.   
  
"The garage work is just for kicks," Makoe said coldly.  
  
"Of course," Samar tossed her head, "We all know where you make your _real_ money: drag racing." She sniffed. "Tristan does well with the occasional contracts. He doesn't need to keep up constant gigs," Samar told Stefan.  
  
Leon murmured, "And he – we – have to keep a low profile otherwise someone might realize that we never age."  
  
The younger Salvatore looked from one face to another. Finally, he settled on Leon, "You lecture?"  
  
"History. One has to make a living somehow, I suppose. Even an undead," Leon said deprecatingly.   
  
"And pay for the wheels," Samar put in snidely. Makoe awarded her a glacial look for the jibe and Stefan remembered the compact vampire's very expensive Japanese racing car.  
  
"I'm the guest lecturer that appears for a few weeks and then disappears into the blue after that," Leon went on complacently. Stefan looked at his fellow prisoners, vampires who had lives in the mundane world of humans, who made it look easy.  
  
"You associate with humans," he murmured thoughtfully. Leon shrugged. "Sure."  
  
"So... you don't hate them?" Stefan ventured. A gamut of emotions crossed Samar's face, too fast for Stefan to identify, and Leon was taken aback. "No particularly," the latter said.   
  
"Then why do you hunt vampire hunters?" he asked, baffled.  
  
"They hunt _us_," Makoe pointed out with cool reason.   
  
Leon shot him a quelling look. "It's self-defense, yes," he said, then a startlingly reckless smile spread on his face. "But it's mostly for the thrill of it. There's no challenge in facing clueless humans who haven't a chance. But vampire hunters know all about the undead, and they're ready for us. It's fun," he said, baring his teeth with something that could only be called bloodthirsty enthusiasm.   
  
Stefan couldn't help but stare at this uncharacteristic side of Leon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Samar doing the same. She looked as surprised as he felt, but she also looked mesmerized by Leon's words. She snapped out of it when he stopped.  
  
"And what do you do?" Stefan asked her. She snorted. "Me? I'm just a kid, remember? What can I do?" she said sarcastically.  
  
"She lives it up, bumming at home," Leon joked. He was struck with the full force of Samar's death glare and miraculously survived. ::I'm undead, remember?:: he told her, laughing. ::That has no effect on the likes of us.::  
  
Samar did not deign to reply but glanced about the cluttered room. "Well, we'd better get started," she sighed. "We've got to find some soon."  
  
"Find some what?" Leon asked, confused.  
  
"Guitar strings, of course," she said. "To replace the current set. You know Tristan; he's going to wear those out in no time! And when we give him a new set of strings..."  
  
***  
  
Eiran sipped his Kahlua Coke absently. Music swirled around him, almost tangible. Beams of multicolored lights swiveled and strobed dizzyingly. The entire club was packed, but nowhere more than the dance floor. It looked like a solid mass of humanity gyrating in unison.   
  
Most of the people in the club that night were vampire hunters. The roving spotlight showed some who were sitting out the dancing due to unhealed injuries. Absently, Eiran wondered what the management of the establishment thought of their group. The crowd on the dance floor shifted and Eiran could make out Crystal, dancing with at least four partners simultaneously. Her form-fitting hipsters and midriff-revealing top combined to give the impression of an endless expanse of bare skin and the way she was dancing drew male attention like bees to honey.  
  
The mob shifted and Crystal disappeared from view. Eiran's attention wandered on. One could almost believe that everything was all right; the jubilant atmosphere made it easy to forget all the pain and horror and loss last week.   
  
But only for so long.  
  
Eiran spotted a familiar blonde head bent in conversation with a group of Turned who had survived the vampires' attack.   
  
The strike force had stayed another two days in Quebec to give him and Elena time to recuperate and regain their strength before returning to Seattle. Their homecoming had been bittersweet at best. They had taken time to visit the graves of friends and the small memorial set up for those whose remains could not be identified. They had caught up with comrades still living, helped to tend the wounded, heard various accounts of the battle.   
  
Jerrick had leaked the news that the Enemy had been killed in that last attack. Crystal's band of vampire hunters was dispersing a little at a time, lending credence to the story. The leader of the hunters had resisted at first, but her lieutenants had convinced her that it would be a good idea to lie low for a while. She was no fool; she knew that they would not be ready to face another attack in the near future. And so, she had reluctantly agreed.  
  
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" The question broke into his reminiscing. Eiran turned his head to see Taura watching him, a slightly petulant curve to her lip and her brow.  
  
"Hm?" he asked.  
  
"Elena. Why don't you ask her to dance instead of just staring at her?" the petite girl repeated irritably.   
  
Eiran realized that he had kept his gaze trained on Elena while his mind drifted back in memory. "I wasn't staring," he said, knowing that protest was futile. Taura snorted.  
  
Since they'd returned, the strike force had spent a lot of time together. It wasn't a conscious decision, merely because there was a feeling of segregation between them and the rest of the hunters. It might have been due to shared experiences... or shared secrets. They had been cautioned not to tell anyone about the nature of their mission.  
  
Right then, Alvin and Karen were on the dance floor. Trent was off somewhere with his fellow diviners. Maddy had voted to remain at the mansion with those too seriously wounded to join the festivities tonight. Elena was... mingling.   
  
Eiran studied Taura. Her eyes were shuttered and her expression closed. The arms crossed in front of her and the belligerent tilt of her head all spoke of discontent. "You're not still sore about how the mission turned out, are you?" he asked. "You heard what Jerrick said."  
  
"'We were there as a precaution and as a trial run so that we could all get a chance to work together. It's the _next_ mission that we're needed for,'" she paraphrased.   
  
"Because the next target has his own horde. And it's huge," Eiran added. He continued to watch her levelly. Her mouth twisted. "Oh, all right, I'll stop sulking," she said huffily. "I'm not really mad. It's just residue. I was so psyched, you know? It's hard to lose that," she sighed.  
  
Eiran nodded and smiled. He received a crooked, wry smirk in return and had to be satisfied with that.  
  
"How's the back?" she asked, changing the subject.   
  
"Practically good as new," he said. Ambrose Meremoth's throw had been forceful enough to shatter his spine in three places and fracture his skull. It was a good thing the Old One's unmaking left abundant energy for Elena and Maddy to patch him back up again.  
  
"Oh?" She arched a challenging eyebrow, making Eiran feel like he'd just waltzed into a trap. "Well, then maybe you ought to get on that dance floor and prove it. And bring Elena with you." Her smug look told him that she'd manipulated him right where she wanted him.  
  
But he was not to be outdone. "I've got a better idea," he finished his drink. "Why don't we leave Elena to her socializing and _you_ can come see for yourself that I'm all healed." He stood and while the hand he extended to her in invitation was courteous, his expression was wholly mischievous.   
  
Taken by surprised, Taura _hmph_ed in mock indignation, then gracefully allowed him to pull her to her feet.  
  
***  
  
Elena laughed at the anecdote Miriam was telling. She shifted slightly and recrossed her legs, careful of the slit in her wraparound skirt. Her glass of Sangria cradled comfortable in one hand, she glanced about, taking in the scene. Her faint smile lingered as she noticed mixed clusters of vampire hunters, Turned and witches together. The division between classes had blurred after the second vampire attack, thankfully.  
  
Her eyes caught on small gallery-like overhang in the darkened recesses of the ceiling. They widened when she recognized the lone figure standing in it.  
  
Excusing herself, Elena found a club employee to show her how to get up there and climbed the well-concealed stairs. The instant she set foot on the platform, she froze. Energy ran strong and wild in this small enclosure, stirring the fine hairs on her arms.  
  
She forced herself to move and managed to walk up to Jerrick one slow step at a time. Fighting the urge to scream, she peered up at him and gasped.   
  
His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes closed. Breath flowed from between his barely parted lips; he looked like someone in the throes of bliss. She raised a hand to touch him, but hesitated. Tentatively she opened herself to the flow of Power–  
  
First shock, then disbelief and finally outrage flared in her eyes. She hissed, long and low. "You..."  
  
She continued to stare at him for an indefinite amount of time, lost in fury, until he sighed and opened his eyes to regard her levelly. The glow on his face was instantly recognizable and fueled her anger all the more.  
  
"Thief," she hissed, glaring daggers at him.   
  
"Thief?" He didn't raise his voice over the buzz of conversation below and the blasting of music but she heard him clearly all the same. "I don't think so, Elena."  
  
"No? Then what do you call stealing their life force? Vampires are kinder; at least they're not so insidious. What you do is a hundred times worse!" she accused.  
  
"I steal nothing." His face was expressionless, unmoved. He swept a hand to encompass the throng below, dancing, laughing, talking, drinking. "Released with the act of living, the energy is simply there, to be taken–"  
  
"It's... not... yours... to take." Her tone dropped two octaves to an ominous growl. Her eyes, a brilliant blue and afire with fury, continued to pin him. When he did not respond, she whispered harshly, "You're despicable."  
  
At this he quirked an eyebrow as if in polite inquiry. "Well, then perhaps this will be an additional incentive for you to complete the task quickly. All this will stop when the deed is done and our promise fulfilled," he said smoothly. The way his nostrils flared indicated impatience barely leashed, belying his tranquil manner.   
  
Elena's fingers dipped through the slit in her skirt to the knife concealed there. Steel rasped when she drew. "Maybe," she said, soft death in her voice, as she raised her blade to strike, "I ought to end it right here and now."  
  
"Don't be any more a fool than you have to," Jerrick bit out viciously. "You know as well as I do that the pact that you and I swore is not so easily undone. Do you think a slit throat would do either of us any good?"  
  
Elena stared at him helplessly, unable to deny the truth in that. She drew breath to retort, but no words came to her, only an uncontrollable fury. She whirled, blond hair flying, suddenly unable to bear being near him. If she stayed, she would use the knife. On whom, she could not answer. Whatever else he might have said was cut short as she ran down the stairs, intent on putting as much distance between them as she could.   
  
  
Author's Note: Feedback! 


	35. Chapter Thirty Four: Ties

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 19 January 2003  
  
  
~ Thirty Four ~  
  
His people were celebrating. In dance and song, in food and drink, in love and laughter and tears, they rejoiced. It was for moments like these that he existed.   
  
The clan celebrated this evening to welcome a new life to their numbers. It was rare that this happened, just as it was uncommon for them to lose one of their own. He looked upon them; the young and ageless faces among the few old and peaceful ones. The deep blue of lapis lazuli glowed at fingers, wrists and throats, in hair, on belts and dangling from earlobes.   
  
Everywhere he walked, faces aglow turned to him, beckoning him to share in their jubilee – "Omar..." – offering him a taste from the cup of their happiness – "Sire..." – some of them visibly reliving their own moment of choice. On a night like this, he could be truly happy, till the euphoria spilled and overflowed. All efforts and sacrifices, all prices and pain, were rewarded tenfold.  
  
But his best reward came when he crossed paths with the source of their elation. The young, beloved face held contentment and, thankfully, no hint of fear or uncertainty. "Cally," he pronounced the foreign name with the ease of long use. She smiled at him, and left the arm of her chosen, to come into his embrace readily. She hugged him, then craned her neck back to meet his gaze. She smiled radiantly.  
  
This, his newest child, who had accepted his offer of life.  
  
***  
  
The door of the library was rudely flung open and banged resoundingly against the wall. The timid young girl sitting inside winced, sure that there would be an unsightly hole in the wall as a result of this exhibition of temper.  
  
"Damn it, Jerrick," Crystal shouted, storming into the room. "You set me up! You told the vampires that the Enemy is dead so that they would stop attacking and you could steal my hunters, didn't you?"  
  
"No," was the unruffled reply of the man who trailed in after the fiery redhead. He limped, but his movements were so economical that one didn't really notice it on casual observation. Unlike the woman, who was blind with fury, Jerrick noticed the girl. He spared her a sympathetic smile and pointed his head to the door, indicating that perhaps she should escape while she could.   
  
May-Ling needed no second hint. She rose, clutching the book she'd been reading, and scuttled out of the library, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her eyes were wide as she quietly shut the door behind her.  
  
"You know as well as I do that you can't face another offensive. A strike of our own, however, is another story," he went on when the door clicked softly. He added in an attempt to soothe her, "I'm taking barely a handful. You have more hunters than you know what to do with, as it is. What difference could it possibly make?"  
  
She growled at him, unimpressed by his logic. "It's not a matter of numbers. It's the principle of it. You manipulated me to fit your own designs and I will not stand for it!" They faced each other in silence, Crystal glowering, Jerrick disdainful.  
  
"I told you the last time that it's not your decision to make," Jerrick reminded her, breaking the silence." You don't own them, Crystal, anymore than I do. It's their choice whether they want to join the attack or not. And they've made their choice." He smiled thinly. "But I'll fight you again, if it'll make you feel better."  
  
***  
  
Unfortunately – or perhaps luckily for Tristan's dignity – they didn't find any spare guitar strings.  
  
Two days later, the first frayed string snapped. Tristan managed to work around it, compensating for the missing string with fancy fingering. Another string gave way the next day. On the fourth day, two strings broke, one drawing a long, fine line of blood diagonally over the musician's right cheek as it recoiled.   
  
The cut faded before Tristan temper did.   
  
Even accomplished as he was, he could not do much with two strings. Instead, he took to prowling the entire subterranean prison. His restlessness was infectious and understandable. They had been held there for almost three weeks with nothing to do and no idea as to why they were being held and for how long. The ambiguity of their fate was quite possibly the worst thing about their captivity.   
  
An unexpected result of Stefan's finding the instrument was that Tristan wasn't as reclusive as before. In the past five days, Tristan's musical prowess had been established, as evinced by the hint of respect in Stefan's eyes. The Italian vampire seemed less tentative around him now, although he was still far from comfortable in Tristan's company.   
  
"If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go crazy," Tristan announced vehemently on the fifth day.  
  
"Crazier," Samar corrected just loud enough to be heard. She had her nose buried in a book, having given up on chess. Stefan and Leon had had only marginal success in trying to teach her the finer points of the game, and watching convoluted strategy between two experienced players got old really fast.   
  
Absently, she thought that it might be an effective way to encourage the youth of America to read; lock them somewhere for a month with no other form of activity available. Then again, some would probably choose to vegetate rather than open a book. Like a certain individual who was pacing the length and width of the room with almost frenetic energy at that very moment.   
  
Tristan did not _quite_ climb the walls, but gave that impression from time to time. Looking up, Samar could tell that Stefan was distracted from the match he and Leon were engaged in. He wasn't the only one.  
  
When he passed her peripheral vision for the thousandth time, Samar's book hit the throw pillow on her lap with an emphatic thump. "Tristan, either sit down or go pace somewhere else. You're bothering me," she said crossly. She raised the book in a clear signal for him to go away.  
  
"_You_ leave. You don't need the space, _I_ do, and this is the biggest room," he shot back.   
  
The book descended again. She eyed him, irritation flaring. "I don't see what your problem is. The others are fine," she said, gesturing to the chess players and Makoe who was occupying the rest of the coffee table not taken up by the chessboard. He was doing something arcane-looking with odds and ends of electrical and electronic devices scavenged during their foray into the storerooms.  
  
Tristan's snort broke into her thoughts. "When have you ever seen Makoe show any kind of reaction? And Leon – hell," he ignored the gaze Samar sent that should have skewered him, "He's sedentary by nature: he _likes_ just laying about and doing nothing. As for Salvatore–"  
  
"Tristan!" Devilment gleamed in Samar's wide, overly-innocent eyes. "You know what 'sedentary' means? Oh, we're so proud of you," she cried, heroically suppressing laughter.   
  
Her brother growled and prepared to pounce on her, but was stalled by Stefan's quiet interjection, "What _about_ me, Tristan?"  
  
The tall vampire rounded on him and green eyes met hazel full on. Samar tensed. Her brother tolerated the Italian vampire at best and made no secret of it. Never before had Stefan brought about a confrontation like this. The question gave Tristan a wide opening for vicious attack that Samar doubted he would pass up.   
  
On the other hand, Stefan had come quite a ways from being the stuffy, brooding fellow he had been three weeks ago. If nothing else, he had learned to fight, Samar reminded herself, smiling at the memory. Maybe he'd just _beat_ some courtesy into Tristan.   
  
Tristan looked at him, trailing his eyes down the length of Stefan's body to his toes and back to his eyes in an insolent manner. "You?" he asked insultingly.  
  
::Yes, me,:: Stefan replied telepathically, in an open send so that everyone could hear. His mental voice was steady and, while not loud, clear and not at all hollow.   
  
Tristan stared at him, weighing his reply. "You're a sorry excuse for a person, and even sorrier for a vampire," the lanky man said at last. Sneered, rather.  
  
Samar's body quivered with apprehension. Leon was looking on with a tiny furrow on his brow, clearly concerned. Makoe as always watched the proceedings calmly, as if nothing touched him. Stefan's expression didn't change a hair.   
  
::How would you know?:: he asked, his tone still calm, but unmistakable challenge in his question.  
  
That seemed to floor Tristan, for he blinked. His sneer slipped, but only briefly before he stuck it back firmly in place. "What the animal blood, moping and wimpy attitude not clues enough?" he asked, not deigning to reply through telepathy.   
  
::Maybe. But then, maybe not. As I recall, I wasn't the one moping and lying abed all day these past three weeks.::   
  
Samar couldn't help herself; she snickered. When Tristan glared at her, she said, a touch defensively, "Well, it's true." She tried to imitate Stefan's tone of calm reason, but did not do nearly as well. Out of the corner or her eye, she saw Leon suppressing a smile of his own. Tristan noticed too, and scowled, turning his thundercloud expression back to Stefan.   
  
The Italian was almost as expressionless as Makoe. ::Maybe,:: he went on when he saw he had Tristan's attention again. ::You should get to know me a little better before you decide I'm an utter waste of space,:: he offered sensibly. ::And I'll extend you the same courtesy.::  
  
Tristan was clearly off balance by Stefan's manner; firm and not backing down, but not attacking either. He looked about, slightly disoriented, and blinked as if to ask, "What's this?"  
  
Samar caught his eye and smiled. "Give him a chance, Tristan. He really _has_ changed," she assured. Stefan bent her a repressive look that made her think that he might have been spending too much time with Leon. She could see her brother about to brush off the 'wimp' and jumped in. "What, afraid he might prove you wrong?" she goaded.   
  
Naturally, Tristan took the bait, "Hah!" He glowered at Stefan in his best 'prove me wrong, I dare you' style. "You're on."  
  
Careful to show no emotion, Stefan nodded.  
  
::I can tell that this,:: Samar whispered, irrepressible and sarcastic, to Stefan alone, ::Is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.::  
  
  
Author's Note: Feedback! 


	36. Chapter Thirty Five: Revelations

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 25 January 2002  
  
Author's Notes: I know this is really, really late and I apologize most abjectly! But it's here! And it's my longest chapter to date. Two revelations in this chapter: one that I chose and one that chose me. Guess which is which. =) Please tell me if they're unexpected (or _totally_ unexpected) or if they're too outrageous.   
  
  
~ Thirty Five ~   
  
"...leads to the main hall," Jerrick said, tapping the appropriate position. A large blueprint of the Old One's domain had been tacked up against the wall so that everyone had a clear view. Jerrick had just outlined the route taken by the Old One to and from his room.  
  
"What's that?" Alvin asked, pointing to a small, anonymous room. It was set deep in the heart of the building, adjacent to Old One's rooms and a stone's throw from the main hall.   
  
"That's the ceremonial chamber. It's not used very often; only for initiations and deaths," Jerrick said, nodding to Alvin as he would a particularly quick student for pointing it out.  
  
The original eight members of the strike force were gathered in the cramped sitting room, along with their four additional teammates, forming two rough semi-circles.  
  
"We will strike near dawn, when things are at a lull and their guard is down." He went on to detail where each of them would be stationed and what they could expect to encounter there. The witches and the two new fighters, Gabrielle and Benjamin, would be stationed at the internal entrances to the Old One's chambers. Eiran and Taura would guard the external entrances, while Jason and Elsa covered the perimeter of that wing and Karen took the sniper's position on the roof of the building. They were to keep out of sight, their presence a precaution against physical attack at Elena while she dealt with the Old One.  
  
"Remember: the odds are heavily in their favor, they have the home ground advantage and they will be vampires. Stealth is vital; we cannot take them all." Taura looked faintly disgusted, no doubt having looked forward to a noisy, messy and altogether satisfying battle.   
  
Elena twisted the slender gold ring on her finger, barely listening. The lapis lazuli set on the band had drawn odd looks from the other members of the team, but someone had murmured that it was a kill-trophy of sorts and she had not bothered to correct them. The fourteen of them had arrived in Antalya, on Turkey's Mediterranean coast, three days ago. As soon as they were provisioned and equipped, they would strike out west and north, heading inland to the Old One's domain.  
  
Jerrick went over several other details of their attack plans, then paused to scan the room and asked, "Are there any questions?" No one said anything. "Is everyone clear, then?" Nods around the room.   
  
"Good. Do not let any of them raise an alarm. This Old One's followers are fanatically devoted to him and will become dangerous if they realize that he is at risk. They revere him as their father and–"  
  
"How do you spot an Old One?" He was interrupted by Gabrielle. There was a calculating look in her eyes, the same one in her partner, Benjamin's. Their interest was transparent: given half the chance, they would love to add an Old One to their list of kills.  
  
Jerrick's pale eyes fixed on her coolly. He said simply, "You don't."   
  
No one spoke up, either for lack of response to the flat reply or waiting for him to continue.   
  
"You had better not, because the only thing that will happen if you encounter them is get yourself and everyone else killed. _You_ certainly cannot hurt them," Jerrick said, brutally candid. It was just as well he quash that idea here and now with the truth. "Elena is the only one who can and she does so through no physical method." If he wanted to draw some reaction from her, she was not about to oblige him. Elena's eyes remained fixed on the spot on the blueprint marked X in bold red.  
  
There was an awkward silence before Karen ventured calmly, curious, "How _do_ you know if it's the Old One?"   
  
Everyone held their breath, not sure how Jerrick would react to this. His eyes narrowed dangerously then he underwent one of his rapid, startling mood changes. "There is no way to tell for sure," he admitted in an almost affable tone. "They don't even wear any lapis lazuli talisman."   
  
This drew a chorus of "What?" and "How can that be?" from several members of the team. Elena remained motionless and mute, scarcely aware of Eiran's concerned eyes on her.  
  
"No way," Trent scoffed. "They're vampires."  
  
"That's where you are wrong." All eyes on him except Elena's, Jerrick limped over to the remaining chair left free for him and lowered himself into it a little stiffly. "I might as well sit down if we're going to have this discussion; it's a long one and I'm not fit to stand around all day anymore," he confided with a touch of dry humor.   
  
He regarded the attentive faces turned to him, as if trying to remember what they had been talking about.   
  
"Vampires," he said, evidently recalled the topic. He ticked each known fact off on his fingers as he enumerated them. "Vampires are afraid of sunlight; exposure without a talisman will kill them. Vampires experience bloodlust; they need blood to survive. Vampires are vulnerable to wood; it is the one substance that can harm them lastingly. Vampires cannot cross running water; the stronger they are, the more this constrains them. Vampires cannot enter human dwellings uninvited."  
  
He paused, lending his next statement emphasis. "None of these limitations apply to the beings we call the Old Ones, for all that they are the origins of vampires."  
  
Everyone shifted in their seats. Here was a tale that explained things no one had ever really thought about or even guessed at. They all waited to hear it, except Elena, who already knew the story and wished she could leave.  
  
"In the infancy of this world," Jerrick began, as if recounting an age-old legend, "They came into existence. They were never human, they were never changed into vampires. They simply were. There were seven of them and they were Power. They drank blood, not because they had to, but because they drew power from the life-essence it held. They looked like humans, as a swan might look like a goose; similar, but not, ever, the same.   
  
"They are immortal in the absolute sense; they cannot die, cannot even be injured. There is no name for their kind because they have no need for one; they recognize their own through Name, a true title that changes to show each individual's nature. No one can read their Name except another of their kind.   
  
"They are all male and sterile; being immortal, they have no need to reproduce and perpetuate their genes. Their powers and abilities extend beyond those known of vampires. Shape-changing, manipulating energy forces–" Elena was reminded of Klaus gathering lightning, "–telekinesis, rock shaping, wood shaping, animal telepathy… there's no telling what an Old One can do. Each has his own abilities. They are completely invulnerable. They fear neither running water nor sunlight nor wood nor fire. They can enter any home they wish.   
  
"So how did vampires come to be? One of the Old Ones wished to be able to give immortality to his followers. Through his intervention, vampires were born. Fortunately, humans cannot make the full transition to Old One and so they exist, neither human, not … other. A subspecies."  
  
Giggles exploded from Taura, dispelling the somber, stately mood that had pervaded the sitting room while Jerrick talked. "Subspecies," she chortled. Her mirth was infectious, drawing chuckles and grins. It was a few minutes before she could contain herself enough for Jerrick to finish.   
  
"The limitations of vampires previously mentioned are... flaws. And the change arrests the human's physical growth, rendering them unable to age. It also causes them to be sterile." He tented his fingers and regarded them as a university professor might, benign in conferring enlightenment upon his students. "And so you see, Old Ones are not, as you thought, vampires."   
  
Everyone paused to digest this startling new information, with a wayward chuckle from Taura. "So... how does Elena identify Old Ones? And how come she can do them in?" Gabrielle asked with a sidelong look at the quiet blonde.  
  
"As to the second, the Old Ones made themselves a bad enemy. Said party armed Elena with a large, very specific hammer and sent her to do her work. And of course, said party also enabled her to recognize them," Jerrick answered smoothly with characteristic dry humor.  
  
An oversimplification, Elena thought, but sufficient. After that, Jerrick wrapped up the session and the gathering dispersed at that point.   
  
Elena gratefully got to her feet. "I'm going to take a walk," she told Eiran softly. He nodded. "I'll come too." He had been slightly discomforted to find himself flanked by his two former trainers. They quizzed him endlessly about his progress in their respective disciplines and argued the merits of the bow against barehanded combat. He was more than happy for the excuse to escape their heated bickering, however good-natured it might be.  
  
As they slipped out the door, Elena heard Taura's chuckling still, "Subspecies..."  
  
***  
  
Pebbles clattered noisily underfoot. The heat of summer left Elena's skin sticky with perspiration and a few tendrils of hair that had escaped the knot on the top of her head clung to her neck and cheeks annoyingly. The cool breeze off the Mediterranean Sea only lightened her brooding mood slightly. Eiran kept pace with her, aware of her black humor and prudently keeping silent.   
  
Elena drew a deep breath, tasting the tang of brine in the air, and let it out slowly. She told herself to relax and felt the strain seep away from her neck and shoulders. She rolled her head and rotated her arms a little. It was not anxiety over the mission that caused her muscles to knot; it was the friction between the members of the strike force.   
  
Gabrielle and Benjamin were toughened warriors who heeded only Jerrick – grudgingly at that – and did not get along with anyone in the band except each other. They were arrogant and overbearing, which infuriated Taura and Karen. By virtue of their involvement in the first strike, the two women had some measure of seniority over the newcomers. Instead of obedience or at least cooperation, however, they were faced with scorn and intransigence from the two seasoned fighters. As it was, Taura had come within a hair of putting one of her knives through Gabrielle's palm. Karen had taken to carrying a gun – or 'packing a rod' as she termed it – at all times and her usually unflappable gray eyes grew frigid when they rested on Benjamin. The man usually returned a lazy smile that was half-leer, further incensing her – and everyone else in the team.  
  
After three days of being cooped indoors with such tension, coupled with the discord between herself and Jerrick, and the strange looks she received for wearing the ring, Elena had had enough.   
  
Eiran broke the quietude, eventually. "You've had a falling out with Jerrick, haven't you?" he asked in his quiet way.   
  
Elena's jaw clenched at the mention of that name. "Yes," she said shortly.   
  
Since that night at the club, she had avoided her 'guide and guardian' like a plague. The only time she came near him was during team briefings and chance encounters. During the meetings, she forced herself to pay attention to what he said but did not acknowledge him otherwise. When their paths crossed outside group conferences, she ignored his very existence. She was not surprised that the other members of the team noticed their estrangement and while she realized on some level that it was not good for morale, the outraged part of her did not care.  
  
"Why?" Eiran prompted and Elena held back annoyance.   
  
"I don't agree with some of his principles and actions. No, I _strongly_ disagree. I also don't like the way he manipulates things to suit his needs or the way he pushes everyone else without consideration," she surprised herself by adding. "He doesn't give a damn how everyone else fares or who suffers, as long as we accomplish the objective."  
  
She could see Eiran's expression asking if she and Jerrick didn't share a common objective. "We may have the same goal but that doesn't mean I'll blindly do as he says. I may just be a means to an end for him, a tool to complete this mission, that I have feelings and convictions, too. This tool _cares_ how it's used. Can you see what I'm saying?" she asked in return.  
  
He was silent for a while, considering her words. "I think, a little," he said eventually and lapsed into silence. The time let Elena brood over the progress of their task, what little there was of it.   
  
::Five more,:: she thought, fighting the despair that threatened to crash on her. ::But when this is over, you will have earned your reward. You would have _Stefan_ and a wonderful life with him ahead of you,:: she reminded herself fiercely.   
  
Her fingers of her right hand stroked the ring on her left unconsciously. ::Soon.:: Doubts assailed her; what if he didn't want her anymore? What if he hated her? ::He doesn't hate you. It's the misunderstanding. When this is all over, you just have to explain everything to him. He loves you; he'll not leave you,:: the reasonable side of her reassured. Elena felt a surge of bittersweet pain that threatened to drown her. She missed him so much that she could almost feel his arms, cool and solid around her.  
  
She came to a circular slab of stone that might have once been part of a building in ancient Rome. She sat down, biting her lip as she turned her face to the Gulf on Antalya. To her right, the sun was setting, light bouncing off the waves with almost painful intensity.   
  
"Elena?"  
  
She had forgotten about him momentarily. She acknowledged him with a tiny smile and patted the stone beside her.  
  
"You looked really sad there for a while there," he commented, accepting the invitation to sit, but twisted sideways to face her. Concern shaded his voice and showed in his eyes although the rest of his expression remained casual.  
  
"Nothing earthshaking," she said, forcing a light tone. He kept his patient expression, waiting. She sighed again, feeling the need to just _talk_ to someone, to pour her heart out. "I was thinking about this whole 'quest' of mine... ours," she admitted.  
  
"We've only eliminated two of the Old Ones. There are seven of them. That leaves five more. So much has happened, so much pain and effort that makes my head reel just thinking about it – and we're barely more than a quarter way through. It just feels so..." she trailed off, searching for words to explain her feelings.  
  
"Hopeless," he murmured. He understood hopelessness, perhaps more than she. He hesitated, but she looked so sad... His hand reached out, his fingers touched her chin, tipped her face up with gentle pressure. "It's a heavy burden you carry, the unmaking of these ancient and powerful beings. It is understandable for you to feel the pressure and strain of the responsibility.  
  
"But you're not alone. You have us and we – the Turned, at least – will not abandon you to do this alone." Their gazes met and held for an intense second. "We'll take one day at a time, each step as it comes and someday, not too long away, we will succeed." He said it with complete faith and refreshing confidence, "We will."  
  
Shakily, Elena laughed, but there was a bitter edge in it. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the thought that his words called to mind, "Well, I don't know about _we_, but I will." She could tell that her words had startled and stung him. He had said 'we' in an effort to show his support and she had thrown it back in his face. She had to explain.   
  
She caught his hand as he pulled it back. "I _will_ finish the task, Eiran. I have no choice," she said earnestly, a tinge of apology in her eyes. "Even if I live a hundred years, a thousand years, I will finish the task. Nothing can stop me, not time, not even death."   
  
He stared at her uncomprehending. "I will not – literally cannot – die until my task is complete," she explained more explicitly. "Until then, I will live forever and no matter how mortal my injury, I will come back." She released his hand, looking miserable. "It's... very disturbing to know that you have no choice but to go on, that death is no escape."  
  
Minutes passed in silence and the sun dipped below the horizon. Lights came on behind them, in the streets and buildings of Antalya, but for the most part, the beach remained shrouded in shadow.   
  
"Well," Eiran breathed at length. "Burdens on the soul indeed."   
  
Elena did not respond, embroiled in her personal turmoil; angst and guilt and fear and desolation. She started when she felt his hand close on her own. He took it and enclosed it warmly in both his palms. "We'll try and stay with you for as long as we can, milady. It will be an honor. And I pray that we live to see the end together."  
  
She stared at his face, half seen in the dimness. Her heart lurched at such graciousness on his part. "I don't deserve you," she whispered.   
  
His face lifted, curved, as he smiled. "Nonsense!" he chided, such mischievousness in his voice that it wrung a laugh out of her. "Now," he added when her spurt of hilarity ended. "Was that the reason for the unhappy look earlier?"  
  
Elena hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted to reveal such personal thoughts and feelings. But talking about her misery and her temporary immortality – what an oxymoron! – had been such a relief.  
  
"It's...It's Stefan. He was so angry when he left. I could see it in his eyes, he felt completely betrayed. And here I am, my life and death sold for a second chance with him, and at the end of it all, he might refuse to see me, to listen to me, to let me explain. And then where will I be? If he hates me–"  
  
"He won't!" Eiran said firmly. "He can't possibly hate you. He'd be a fool to. Not when you love him so much. If he had a lick of sense, he'd realize how lucky he is and fall on his knees in thanksgiving!" he went on with feeling. Elena almost giggled at the mental pictures his words conjured, of Stefan collapsing onto the floor before her, hands and face lifted in awe and gratitude. She was so engrossed in the image that she missed the odd strain in Eiran's voice.  
  
"A fool," he muttered. Abruptly, he rose. "It's getting late. We should get back before the others worry," he said, extending a hand to help her to her feet.  
  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Please take a moment to drop me a note with comments - it would be much loved and appreciated! 


	37. Chapter Thirty Six: Strike

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 29 January 2003  
  
  
~ Thirty Six ~  
  
"This is _not_ what I signed up for," Gabrielle muttered under her breath. Beside her, Benjamin nodded agreement to the complaint. Slipping into the Old One's lair had been almost ridiculously easy with the shield Jerrick had put on each member of the team to damp their minds; to any vampire sweeping the area, looking for minds, they were invisible. All they had needed to do was stay out of sight and be silent, child's play for experienced hunters such as they.   
  
"Stupid layout. Defending this spot is a nightmare," she groused on. The Old One's chamber opened up to the garden courtyard, which Taura and Eiran were guarding. There were also doors to the corridor and his consort's chambers. The two rooms were set at the end of the building with two hallways leading to it in a U-shape. To add insult to injury, there was very little in the way of cover; no nooks in the wall to climb into, no shadowy enclaves to shrink into, no curtains or statues or handy suits of armor to hide behind. The two of them were guarding the entrance to the consort's rooms.  
  
"Well, it's not like he needs a lot of protecting; no one can hurt him, eh?" Ben pointed out. Somewhere down the hall, where the three mystics were guarding the main entrance to the target's rooms, Trent hissed, "Be quiet!" The two hunters exchanged annoyed glances, but subsided into silence.   
  
Minutes later, Gabrielle resumed muttered conversation. "Are you sure that consort is not in her room?" she asked for the third time. "What if we're shutting the barn door after the horse is gone?"  
  
"There was no one in the room," Ben bit out irritably.  
  
"Well, what if he comes along with a friend or two? We'd have to separate them–oh," she bit off an expletive at the sound of footsteps. She glanced down the hall and when she didn't see the three witches, raised her eyes to the gloom of the ceiling. The three of them hung seemingly in midair, clinging to cornices with fingers and toes although it was Alvin's spell that was really holding them up there. For their part, the two hunters scuttled noiselessly down their corridor and pressed themselves against the wall. Gabrielle peered cautiously around the corner.   
  
A lone well-built man appeared and entered the door the witches had been guarding. As the door shut behind him, Gabrielle shot a quizzical glance at the others, "Was that him?" she mouthed. Shrugs and nods. A throaty chuckle bubbled its way up her neck. Well, that took care of her last question. It seemed that things was going according to plan. Everything was quiet; no fireworks. Now, give Elena about twenty minutes, tops and they could all go home, mission accomplished. And that little squirt upstart Taura wouldn't get her big, fat battle, poor baby.  
  
She felt a nudge in her ribs and shot Benjamin an enquiring look. "Don't get complacent on me just yet. We've still got to make sure she's not interrupted," he whispered in her ear. She punched him in the arm to show him how complacent she was, but inwardly she chastised herself for getting distracted.  
  
The witches had gotten back to the ground by then and had their heads together, close to the door. Gabrielle exchanged another look with Ben and rolled her eyes. She sauntered over to their corridor to take up the guard duty, since the three of them were obviously engrossed in something else.   
  
She kept her eyes trained down the corridor but her mind wandered after several minutes. Suddenly, her ears caught the scuff of sandals on the floor and she jerked into full alertness. The trio were still lost in their own world, in plain sight and there was nowhere for Gabrielle to secrete herself. Mouthing curses, she threw Ben a warning look before darting forward. Her hand pulled out a wicked dagger. She hit the unsuspecting person full force, slamming the slight figure against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Or her, as Gabrielle saw a moment later. A young girl with huge chocolaty brown eyes, black tresses and olive skin. The gleam of laminated wood rested against the heaving skin of the newcomer's throat but Gabrielle checked herself just short of the killing blow. Something...there was something nagging at her...  
  
She studied the girl under her hands. Pretty but hardly gorgeous. In fact, if she was a vampire, she was rather plain...  
  
It hit her then; this was no vampire! She was human! She was a captive then. Or a servant about to be a convenient food source. The girl babbled something in the local language, which Gabrielle didn't know a word of.   
  
"It's okay," she told her in English, hoping she would understand. "We'll get you out of here. No vampire's going to drain your veins." She removed the blade slowly, motioning for the girl to be quiet. She earned a scornful look and a full-throated shout for her trouble. ::Damn!:: She brought her hand down sharply on the juncture of the girl's neck and shoulder and caught her as she slumped in a senseless pile.   
  
"Nice going," Ben shot at her, as he strode by, pulling out his gun and stake. He took a ready stance at the juncture of the corridor and the passage just off the secondary hall. Scowling, she pulled out her own gun and went to join him.   
  
Vampires came barreling down the hall, armed and wary. Whatever it was the girl had screamed, it had effectively put them on their guard. Even so, things went well in the beginning. They came in unsure as to where the threat was and the duo could pick them off cleanly. By the time the vampires had their wits properly about them, six of their companions lay in various stages of decomposition on the ground.   
  
Gabrielle fired off another shot and got a nasty shock when blood spurted from the young man's chest and he fell with a cry and _didn't mummify!_ Human!  
  
"What is this place?" she snarled as another person, an elderly man this time, crumpled without disintegrating. "Vampires and humans living together?"  
  
By then, the vampires were attacking in earnest. Most carried archaic weapons, thankfully. They outnumbered the hunters by more than ten to one; impossible odds given the disparity between human and vampire abilities. And then, there were two points that needed guarding...  
  
Gabrielle threw a harried glance over her shoulder. The witches were nowhere in sight. They were either already in the room with Elena or guarding the other door. Good. At least they'd woken up and gotten to work. After that, Gabrielle didn't have any attention to spare, throwing her heart and soul into keeping the vampires at bay.   
  
Which was why she didn't see the girl she had knocked unconscious rise and pick up a knife that had skittered across the line of combat. She was unprepared for the shock of cold metal sliding through her ribs and piercing her lung. She recovered quickly, a flash of pure adrenaline jolting her into motion. Spinning, she knocked the triumphant girl away. "You ungrateful–" A quick kick to the head sent her back into oblivion before Gabrielle returned to the battle. She had to keep going; Ben depended on her. There were too many of them; he needed her help. Shoot, stab, on to the next.  
  
Gabrielle went on fighting, to her last breath a vampire slayer. Ben turned, surprised when her knees buckled suddenly and she toppled to the ground, eyes staring, still, at the on-coming, seemingly never-ending vampire wave.   
  
***  
  
The vampire picked his target with vicious logic. His inhumanly beautiful eyes lighted up when they found Maddy. Sweet, innocent, gentle, _good_ Maddy. The vampire's intention was clear. Trent, watching the scene unfold in a bare instant, could not let him have his way.   
  
The diviner barreled forward to interpose himself between the vampire and his would-be prey. Confronted with a belligerent human, the vampire smiled unpleasantly. ::You humans brought this upon yourselves,:: the words sounded clearly in Trent's head. ::You invaded our home without reason, seeking to hurt our clan. If we retaliate, blame us not!::  
  
The vampire flashed his fangs at the stout diviner, pacing forward menacingly. ::Step aside,:: the sending was laced with persuasion and authority, working subliminal commands on Trent's psyche. ::Bar not our way to our Sire and his lady, and we may let you leave in peace.::  
  
The weather-witch set his jaw and stood his ground. "You'll only get to her through me," he growled, knowing the vampire could hear him perfectly well despite the din. He wasn't sure if he referred to the healer or Elena, but that hardly mattered.   
  
The vampire nodded, as if to seal an agreement. And sprang.  
  
***  
  
"Maddy!" she heard Alvin call, desperation in his voice. The healer shoved her opponent away to buy herself the precious second in which to look around. Catching her eye, Alvin jerked his chin towards the still form of the weather-worker, entangled with the disintegrating remains of a vampire.  
  
"No...nonono," Maddy whispered. She had to return her attention to the human girl who came at her. She had been surprised to realize that the attackers were a mixed group of humans and vampires. Could it be that they coexisted? Or were the humans being used? The ratio of vampire versus humans was very high – perhaps one person in ten was a human. No time to think about that now. Maddy steeled herself and broke the girl's wrist. With two carefully placed kicks, she managed to shatter the girl's kneecaps, rendering her immobile with pain and unable to support her weight or wield a weapon. ::I'm sorry,:: she thought silently to the girl before darting to where Trent lay motionless.   
  
Even as she bent down, she marshaled her healing powers. He must not be incapacitated! Elena needed him to dispel the massed Power through weather working! "Trent?" she said softly, rolling him over onto his back. Her breath caught at the sight of his brutally torn-out throat. She felt for a pulse, knowing it was futile. She found none. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting fear and grief.  
  
"Maddy! I need you!" Alvin's plea broke through her haze of sadness. Quickly, she closed Trent's eyes, giving him the little dignity in death that she could and stood. "Maddy!" Alvin shouted.  
  
"Coming!" she called, mistaking his call for prompting instead of the warning it was. Someone cracked a club over her head and she fell senseless beside Trent.  
  
***  
  
Taura was fighting tooth and nail. That is, she was fighting vampires who were using fang and claw. She herself had her trusty blades, having expended her throwing knives earlier on. If opportunity came, she retrieved the spent knives and found new targets, but the vampires were coming too hard and fast for her to do that very often.   
  
Eiran was putting those wooden claws of his to good use. He had to be careful, though, not to let the vampires surround him or mob him. Around the corner, Elsa and Jason seemed to be keeping score. On the roof, Karen was picking off vampires, probably accounting for more kills than the rest of them put together. Without her, Taura doubted that they could have managed to hold off the onslaught. As it was, they were spread thin, covering the damned doors leading to the garden and courtyard at the back of the house as well as all the windows along that end of the wing! Taura worried about the markswoman; it was only a matter of time before someone thought of going up there to neutralize her and then where would they be?  
  
::Don't run out of bullets anytime soon, my friend,:: she thought to the sniper on the roof. The problem with knife fighting was that most of the time, one's opponent had the advantage of reach on one. Taura dodged and danced out of grasp, but it was sapping her energy fast.   
  
::Hurry, Elena!:: There was no telltale static in the air to indicate that the Old One was being unmade. She managed to stake the vampire she was currently facing and almost choked on the dust as the being died. She barely had time to blink, much less catch her breath properly, before she was confronted with another attacker. He twitched a whip, looking barbarically handsome and completely relaxed. ::Hurry!::  
  
Minutes later, she realized that the steady crack of gunshots had fallen silent.  
  
***  
  
Spots of darkness danced before Benjamin's eyes. His arm ached but rose obediently to slash at yet another opponent. He had run out of bullets and stuck the gun back in its holster, grabbing a blade lying on the ground. The hilt was sticky with blood, but Ben scarcely noticed. How many of them are there? Bodies and dust formed a solid layer on the corridor and still they came. How many had Jerrick said there were? Fifty? This was definitely more than fifty vampires!  
  
He was parked solidly in front of the door to the consort's room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the combat witch standing squarely before the entrance to the Old One's chambers. At his feet were the lifeless forms of his two colleagues. The golden witch stood over them, a barely visible wall of force holding back the vampires. Ben was not fooled into thinking that the witch had it easy. Sweat ran down his face, mingling with blood. He had no more energy for offensive spells left; all he could do was shield and wait things out.   
  
Gabrielle's body was lost, buried somewhere among the mass of corpses that littered the hallway. Ben turned dead eyes back to the advancing attackers. It took a moment for the strange scraping noise overhead to penetrate his fatigued senses. Debris rained down around him and suddenly, someone fell through the roof, uncurling from a tucked spin to land with knees bent to absorb the shock of impact. The person started shooting at the vampires almost immediately, a long, willowy figure dressed in formfitting black. Karen Oliver, markswoman elite.   
  
"Glad you could drop in," Ben grated grudgingly but sincerely, his fighting vigor revived somewhat by the arrival of help.  
  
"Jerrick told me to come," Karen said briefly, never breaking the rhythm of her shots. She reached into a pouch with one hand, the other still firing, pulled a case of bullets, and passed them to him. She stepped forward and covered him while he reloaded his weapon.   
  
When his shaking fingers had accomplished the task, he rose unsteadily and took aim.   
  
***  
  
Alvin gritted his teeth as his shields absorbed the pressure of multiple attacks. He had no illusions; with Trent gone and Maddy out of action, he had to hang in there and be ready to help Elena when the time came.   
  
::I wouldn't mind you throwing me a line and pumping Power this way right about now, milady,:: he thought, adding to his shields as they were destroyed. So far, he had been pulling from inner reserves and the energy stored in his collection of magical artifacts from the last strike in Quebec. Then he had resorted to what little he could gather from the ley lines in the area. Now, all supplies were running dangerously low...  
  
::Maddy! Trent! Alvin!:: the longed-for call finally came. Alvin threw a desperate line to her and sighed with relief when Power surged strong and pure through him. ::Yes! She did it!:: He straightened, feeling rejuvenated. His shields became incandescent and he even managed to throw an offensive spell or three at the relentless surge of attackers. They were blinded, deafened and paralyzed in turn. Alvin felt like laughing. He knew how much Power was available to him now; he could keep this up forever. Maybe he should extend his shielding to cover the others...  
  
And then, suddenly, the link to Elena went dead. Power was cut off abruptly, leaving him overextended and desperate once again. Amid his panic, he wondered, terrified, ::Elena. What happened to her?::  
  
  
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Feedback is much adored. =) 


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven: Surprises

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
  
Date posted: 4 February 2003  
  
  
~ Thirty Seven ~   
  
By the time the Old One entered the room, Elena was as tightly wound as a guitar string that was a hair from snapping – or tearing out the soundboard. Her eyes darted to the door at the sound of the knob turning.   
  
A lone, powerfully built man entered the room. The door shut with a muffled thump of thick wood behind him. There was no doubt; it was _him_. And he was alone. Elena closed her eyes in relief. So far so good.   
  
When he had his back turned to her, she eased out of her hiding spot in the shadow of a divan, keeping her eyes trained on his every move. He took a deep breath and paused. Elena froze, heart seeming to leap up her throat. Then he pulled off the gold embroidered stole draped around his neck and undid the tunic of rich crimson. The muscles on his back rippled mesmerizingly under bronzed skin as he shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped towards the Roman-styled couch and reached for the simple white, wrapped jacket laid out there.   
  
Elena stole forward, holding her breath, tensed to spring in case he turned before she was ready.   
  
Immobilize him. Knock him out, and then finish him off, she thought. There was no time to waste. Her right hand gripped the stout quarterstaff, which could serve as a cudgel at need. The knife in her left hand was held behind her to prevent a stray reflection of light from alerting her prey.   
  
She forgot the sash. The stiff, scratchy gold material crackled loudly in the stillness as her foot came down on it. She froze, fear and anger jolting adrenaline through her system. The Old One whipped around, surprised.  
  
But not alarmed. He did not raise an alarm at the sight of her standing in his chambers bearing weapons, indicative of his faith in his invulnerability. He said something in a language she didn't understand, his tone quizzical. He switched to English when she failed to show comprehension. "Child? How did you come to be here?"  
  
The fact that he addressed her as a child was equally telling. For all that he looked no older than mid-twenty, he obviously saw everyone around him as infants, hardly surprising considering his millennia of existence.  
  
She smiled at him thinly but instead of answering, rushed him. He dodged, lightning quick, and dodged again when she twisted, anticipating his evasion. His brow furrowed.  
  
Elena, on the brink of springing for him again, found herself paralyzed by invisible barriers. ::No!:: she thought futilely. She struggled, trying to get in physical contact with him. She only needed to be able to touch him...  
  
"Ah," said the Old One, standing no more than two feet away. His expression became focused again. The stone beneath Elena turned to mire, covering her feet before solidifying. The invisible bonds melted away, but she could not move forward, her feet trapped beneath solid rock. "It is physical contact you wish. I am afraid I cannot oblige you," he said, sounding almost kind. "We shall talk, in comfort, perhaps?" Behind them both, stone became fluid, swirling up in a column and then hardening again, forming two convenient seats. He seated himself and waited for Elena to do the same. Awkwardly, she did so, balancing with her arms. She imagined the ridiculous sight she made, shackled to the ground, waving her arms to maintain her balance, a weapon in each hand.  
  
They stared at each other for several seconds. The Old One's expression clearly invited explanation. Elena returned his gaze with a steely, brooding one of her own. He sighed. "Youngling, will you not speak?" he asked, in a tone that could only be called gentle. "You are resourceful, to have come this far undetected," – a lie; security around here was almost laughable – "What is your purpose? What have any of us done that you wish us harm?"  
  
Elena's lips drew back, baring her teeth. She maintained her silence, her mind frantically trying to find some way to get to him. The others – she must act quickly. The Old One looked away from her momentarily, towards the door that led to the ceremonial chamber.   
  
He turned back to her, looking faintly regretful. "You will leave me no choice, then." And he struck, swift as a snake.  
  
Elena felt her mind invaded by a second presence, stately as the mountains but lively as a bonfire. And then her mind whirled with images, sounds, sensation...   
  
...murmuring to Stefan and Damon to take care of each other while the light and warmth called to her to come rest. Come rest...   
  
...fighting for control of Bonnie's dreams as Klaus tried to twist them...  
  
...whispering encouragement to Bonnie, that fateful Solstice Eve, "Call me. You have to ask..."  
  
...bending her incorporeal head in acquiescence and acceptance to the offer...  
  
...dancing the mad, dizzy dance of joy in the wet clearing, unaware of the price yet to be paid...  
  
...lying in the warm circle of Stefan's arms...  
  
...watching Eiran's chest heave and his eyes open in wonder...  
  
...spiraling down into Stefan's intoxicating kisses as the golden light of candles threw dancing shadows around them and dinner cooled unheeded on the table...  
  
...fighting for control of the maelstrom of Power unleashed in the wake of Nigel Emery...  
  
...enticing the dark figure in the alley with false promises of fulfillment...  
  
Elena opened her eyes, realizing that tears were streaming down her face. The Old One was watching her with wonder and sorrow in his face. Then his head bent.  
  
"Our pact is broken then. All shall fall. Kier-Achmed and Ambrose-Meremoth are no more. I am to be next it seems." His tone was resigned. Elena felt sensation at her feet and looked down, disbelieving; the rock melted away. She was free!  
  
She raised her eyes to see the Old One beckon with one hand. "Come forth, little one, and do what you must," he instructed. Her eyes narrowed; it had to be a trick...  
  
::No subterfuge, warrior-maid. Merely acceptance of the inevitable.:: He raised his head, suddenly looking old. But serenity shone in his eyes. For a second time, she was engulfed by his stronger mind. He showed her wordlessly, his sincerity. There was no falsehood between minds.  
  
"Why? How can you be so pliant about this?" she whispered. "How can you not hate me for this?"  
  
::There is no blame. You do this to have a life of your own, with your beloved, this Stefan. Am I not Athanasia-Omar, immortal life? How can I begrudge you that, a full life, when I understand it and have shared in the same? Come, let us finish this.:: More emotions and images flashed in her mind. Years and decades and centuries. Men and women of all races and age, each cherished, each precious and loved. Moments of great joy, times of piercing sorrow. He had lived long enough, full enough. He had no regrets, only gratitude.  
  
As he showed her all this and more, he drew her step by step towards him. She was crying again, but this time, her tears were for him. For his beauty of spirit and purity of heart. How could she do this? To unmake him was to rob the world–  
  
::Two things. Three, actually,:: he broke into her anguish. His mental tone was oddly clinical for a moment, like a slap to bring her out of hysteria. Then they returned to their normal vibrant depths. She looked down stupidly as he took her hands in his, holding them with courtly deference. ::Do not harm my children. Use your gift to help those who wish to be human again,:: he told her earnestly. His charge caught her speechless for moments. She could only nod once, which he returned, sealing the agreement. ::And don't cry for me.::  
  
He guided her hands gently to cup his face on either side. ::Begin.::   
  
She gathered herself, concentrated, faltered. "There will be no pain–" she began.  
  
::Do it, girl! Your friends are dying beyond this chamber. They cannot hold off my children for much longer!:: said the one who had once been called Abran Leota, the father of vampires. His command cracked in her mind like a cat-'o-nine-tails, shocked like a splash of icy water in the face. A surge of alarm shot through her at the reminder of the others depending on her. She tightened her grasp and squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
She had no real control over her ability. It flowed as it willed when she let it go. Once again, Elena felt the spreading, as if a part of her reached out to encompass the Old One. It was different this time. She felt him accept it, not resisting but helping her. She tore her attention away from him to fling out a call, as she'd been taught: ::Maddy! Trent! Alvin!:: Immediately, she felt Alvin snake a 'hand' towards her. She 'grasped' it, channeling Power to him. She was taken aback by the way he consumed what she sent without hesitation and demanded more. Their link was limited to channeling so she couldn't ask him what the situation was out there.  
  
The initial nightly sessions of being hammered with raw force by Jerrick had made channeling almost second nature to her. She immersed herself instead in binding the rapidly increasing pool of energy. It grew from a tiny whirlwind into a tempest, picking up force with the Power it leeched, first from his abilities, then from the accumulated energy of the life forces he had gathered and held within him, and finally from his very being.   
  
At that point, the form of Athanasia Omar was sheathed with an incandescent aura and began to blur. It was then that she felt his pain at leaving behind the children he so loved and his longing that things could have been otherwise. And then, with agonizing slowness, she felt his awareness dissolve, until there was no being there, only pure Power.  
  
The maelstrom began to surge insistently. She focused on manipulating the energy, the better to distract herself from thinking about the unexpected and heartbreaking goodness of this Old One. She fell into a self-induced semi-trance, submerged in the impersonal world of shifting Power, hardly aware of her surroundings.  
  
Somewhere, a door was flung open. A tall, elegant woman with long black hair sailed across the threshold. Her beautiful face was twisted into a look of horror and her eyes held a world of suffering as she took in figure of glowing, swirling light before Elena. A second figure appeared in the doorway even as the first threw herself across the room with a wordless cry.   
  
She reached the duo a second too late; the last spark that had once been an Old One danced and winked out as she fell to the ground where he had once stood, sobbing hysterically and choking out words that meant nothing to Elena.   
  
"No!" Dimly, the cry broke through Elena's abstraction. The voice spoke in English and came from the second figure, who stood frozen in the doorway. Galvanized into action, the person pelted forward, proving to be a girl about Elena's age, with hair of bright sunset bound in multiple braids. The varicolored beads at the end of each braid clattered together noisily. She stood over the weeping woman, seeming in shock.  
  
"No! Omar!" the girl screamed, staring unseeing at the first woman. "No..." she said more softly, in disbelief. Coming out of her stupor, she glanced sharply at Elena, who was too involved in restraining the errant Power to do anything to defend herself. Eyes bright with unshed tears and anguish narrowed fiercely.   
  
"You..." the girl hissed poisonously. She bent to pick up the knife Elena had dropped and advanced, emanating black revenge. "You did this. You _killed_ him!" She came right up so that her face was inches away from the blonde's, tipping her head back to make up for the difference in their height. Her nostrils flared and her fair skin blotched awfully under the strain of her grief and hate.   
  
"You killed the most generous, selfless, gentle and loving man there ever was," she spat. Elena did not move, for to do so would disrupt the careful balance she created between channeling the Power to Alvin and keeping the whole in check. Even so, the words stung like a hundred wasps, only the pain went deeper.   
  
"He didn't deserve to die!" the girl was screaming right in her face now. "You had _no right_!" Then she seemed to lose what small control she had over her emotions. "_Monster!_" The word hit Elena, even in her tranced state, like a slap in the face. "You cold-blooded, evil–!" The girl raised a hand as if to strike her, then stared at the blade she held as if she had forgotten it was there. Her eyes darted to Elena's still face as if measuring her next move. After only a brief hesitation, she stabbed the knife through Elena's heart.   
  
The blonde gasped in pain, an involuntary reaction that broke her paralysis and undid her painstaking work at containing the energy that was all that remained of the Old One. Her careful barriers unraveled in a split second. Awash in a sea of agony, Elena felt despair as she scrambled for consciousness and control. She tried directing part of the energy to the wound in hopes of healing herself. She screamed a second time, feeling the searing burn of raw power on hurt flesh. Spun off balance between pain and remorse and feral Power, she lost her tenuous link to Alvin and felt herself spiraling helplessly into smothering grayness.  
  
***  
  
From the hotel room miles away, Jerrick monitored the fight, coordinating at need. He was like a general, removed from the battle, able to see it as a whole and direct it accordingly. Sun Tzu would have approved, he thought dryly.   
  
::Where had things gone wrong?:: he asked himself. When he had not warned the team that it was a mixed group of humans and vampires lived in the Old One's domain? When he had put the magic-wielders together? Or when he had not reconciled with Elena and told her about Omar?   
  
He was not one to dwell on past mistakes, nor despair over might-have-beens. As he watched Elena fall, his mind coolly took in the various circumstances and plotted a move to effectively counteract the problems they faced.   
  
He wasn't worried about Elena; she would emerge from this unscathed. Left on their own, the clan would massacre the hunters shortly. The strike force was... if not exactly expendable, at least replaceable. No, the matter that took his attention was the Power about to be unleashed without Elena or the witches to direct it.   
  
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise? It would be a good time to test his hypothesis...  
  
He reached out and took Elena's unconscious mind, cradling it as gently as Omar had held her hands. Cajoling, he extracted the knowledge he needed from her subconscious and swiftly, deftly gathered the loose tendrils of Power that threatened to go truly rogue. He guided Elena's subconscious mind through the path of his own design. He clouded it, wove illusions to blind and raise the desired responses, then let things run their course. Power peaked, mushrooming invisibly like a cloud of dust raised by a gigantic explosion. It expanded rapidly outward like the ripple caused by a tossed pebble on a calm lake.   
  
At the leading edge of the wave touched them, attackers, vampire and human alike, fell prone and motionless. To Jerrick's trained eye, Power flowed restlessly, seeking. It flitted from one form to another. When it touched a human, it spun false memories or blocked of the past entirely, then flowed on. When Power found a vampire, it wiped the mind of all recollection then proceeded to coil around the limp form seductively, forming a cocoon that sunk into the core of the undead.   
  
By the time the wave passed over all the attackers, the seething pool of Power had been expended enough that it dissipated into the ambient energy system of the surrounding forest harmlessly.  
  
Seated comfortably in his hotel room, Jerrick relaxed and let out the breath he had been holding. "So that's it."  
  
***  
  
The hunters looked around, torn between numbness and battle tension. When it became apparent that no more foes would come, they collapsed where they stood, muscles quivering, breath coming in great gulps. Slowly, strength began to ebb back into their limbs.   
  
Eiran stumbled through the garden entrance into the Old One's room to find three women sprawled on the floor. He ignored the other two figures, attention focused on Elena. She lay on her side, the hilt of her knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes were wide and staring. There was a faint white aura about her that faded even as he watched. A detached part of his brain recalled that on previous occasions when she faced down an Old One, she was enveloped in a glowing sheen.  
  
Taura, hanging on the threshold behind him, must have caught sight of the same scene. She suppressed a moan at the expression on Elena's face: mute horror. Eiran reached her first. Gently, as if he touched spun glass, he lifted and turned her so that she was cradled against his knees. He heard a sob catch in Taura's throat; she was too tired to hold back her emotions. Eiran understood how she felt.  
  
He wanted to tell her that it was all right, that Elena was not dead, or at least, would not remain so for long. She had said she would return and he did not think she meant in the distant future. He wanted to say that she would recover and they would continue their quest but lacked the energy to do so. Besides, he rather suspected she would think he had lost his mind in grief and shock. She – and the rest – would just have to see when the time came.  
  
It never occurred to him to question Elena's claim to immortality. Despite that, even knowing that she was not truly dead, it hurt to see her like this. It brought back memories of Grace too vividly. He found it hard to breathe around the lump in his throat.   
  
His eyes roved over her face, brushing the tangled strands of golden hair away to bare the tear-stained visage and anguish ravaged expression. ::What happened, milady, for it to come to this?:: he asked silently.   
  
Searching for something to do, he reached for the hilt of the knife. The action drew a yelp of protest from the elfin fighter. "Stop that, you idiot! You can't pull that out; she'll bleed–" 'to death' was hastily truncated, a slip of a tongue too late. "At least wait for Maddy," she added lamely.  
  
"No chance of that." Hair trigger reflexes jerked both their heads around. Eiran felt a muscle protest the sudden movement. Alvin leaned against the threshold of the door to the rest of the palace. Just inside the room, propped up against the near wall were the prone forms of the healer and the diviner. A glance clearly showed that Trent was dead; no one survived having their throat torn out like that. As for Maddy...  
  
Taura had her fingers to her lips. "Is she–?" There were tears in her voice.  
  
"She'll live," he said shortly. He let himself slide down to the ground, back against the wall. "They weren't out to kill us, just to get pass us."  
  
"Oh," the petite huntress said intelligently. Eiran turned back to Elena and removed the offending blade while Taura was distracted. Blood flowed sluggishly from the wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taura swipe the back of one wrist savagely across her eyes. "Damn." The curse was meant to come out angry, but sounded listless instead. "That was bad. What the hell happened?" she demanded with a little more fire in her voice. "This mission was supposed to be a stealth strike. It wasn't supposed to turn into a war!"   
  
"Too right." Alvin snapped sourly, anger giving him a spurt of energy. He subsided, eyes closing wearily.  
  
Another voice took up the conversation, this one sardonic and unruffled. Eiran turned towards the fourth door to the room, the one that led to the consort's chambers. "I think we took out three quarters of the clan. Either that or Jerrick's operatives can't count worth peanuts. What I want to know is what happened at the end there. All of them keeled over like dominoes," Karen said.   
  
Taura emitted a squeak at the sight of her. "When the gunshots stopped, I thought..." she said. Karen smiled slightly and shook her head. She was supporting Benjamin on one shoulder, whom she eased against the most convenient vertical surface. "Jerrick told me to back up this sector," she explained.   
  
"Where's She-Ra?" Taura asked nastily.  
  
"Gabrielle's dead. She was the first to fall," Ben growled, glaring daggers at her. Taura subsided, embarrassed. An awkward silence ensued with everyone either too tired to say much or too emotionally charged to break the tension.  
  
Eiran turned back to the still form before him. He unconsciously echoed Maddy's gesture as he gently closed Elena's eyelids.  
  
"Wait a minute," Karen said suddenly, noticing who it was Eiran cradled for the first time. She stepped over and went down on one knee beside him. "If _she's_ dead, then what happened with the Old One?"  
  
He met her eyes, noticing for the first time that they were turquoise. "I don't know," he said baldly. His head turned to Alvin questioningly. The combat witch shrugged. "She started to unmake him. Trent and Maddy were down by then, but she channeled to me for a short while and then, nothing," he related what he knew.   
  
Eiran frowned. The other hunters would be as clueless as he. His eyes roamed as his mind sought answers. He saw, without registering, Jason and Elsa appearing through the terrace doors. The former was limping from a pulled muscle. Like the rest, they sported cuts and bruises. Like the rest, they slouched in fatigue.   
  
His crow-black eyes passed over the other two women on the floor, ignored thus far. The first lay inches from Elena, a young human girl with titian hair. Was she the one who had stabbed Elena? The other woman had ivory skin and long, long black hair, which half hid her face as she lay in a sprawl of willowy limbs. Reverently, Eiran laid Elena back on the ground, arranging her in a more composed posture.   
  
He scooted over to the mysterious women and turned her onto her back. Brushing away the silky ebony locks bared a face with an ageless quality, an unearthly beauty. A circlet that looked like pure quartz crystal graced her brow, a large oval lapis lazuli at its center; a vampire. But something struck Eiran as false. He bent forward, staring at her intently.   
  
"Eiran?" Taura broke his concentration.   
  
"Turned," he muttered, incredulous.  
  
"Turned?" Karen echoed, as taken aback as he. He barely heard her. As quickly as his tired legs could carry him, he went back outside to examine the other fallen forms. Human. Another. Another.   
  
He found a young man with exceptional good looks. On his finger was a ring with a familiar blue stone. And yet, he didn't look like a vampire, not quite. Turned. Eiran rove to the edge of the battle, drawn by the glint of lapis lazuli amid the prone bodies.   
  
Every vampire in the clan had been Turned.  
  
When he got back to the Old One's chambers, Alvin and Karen reported similar findings in the corridor. Taura stared at Eiran, wide-eyed. "What can this mean?"  
  
::No time for that now. Clear out. My operatives will take over from there.:: Heads went up around the room as Jerrick's instructions sounded in all their minds. Silent communication as glances were exchanged. The fate of their quest, grieving for fallen companions; those would come later. For now, they had to leave.  
  
Karen, the most able, was sent to bring around the van they had hidden in the nearby wood. Alvin dragged Trent's body towards the garden entrance, sparing Taura that task. The petite fighter tried futilely to pick up Maddy's inert form but Jason silently took over, lifting the healer carefully. Eiran gathered up Elena and slowly followed the combat witch. He heard Benjamin growl at Elsa as the fighter tried to help him to his feet.   
  
"If you're going to lug that fat witch," he nodded in the direction of Trent, "And _her_," he shot a look at Elena, "Then you can darned well go dig Gabrielle's body out too."  
  
Taura bristled visibly, hands seeking the empty sheaths in her knife-belt. Elsa held up a hand to forestall her outburst, then raked the man at her feet with a contemptuous look. "We're not leaving _any_ of our _team_ behind." His belligerent expression wavered at the pointed reminder that neither he nor his partner had been team players. Elsa let him stew in that for a long moment, then reached for his arm to help him up again. "Let's get you to the van first. Then Jason and I'll go look for your partner," she said, her tone softening a shade. Eiran watched Taura stalk towards the door in front of them, not the least mollified.   
  
Finally, they were all loaded up into the van and on their way back.   
  
He was vaguely aware of the strange and worried looks he received, seated with Elena cradled gently beside him. The others were fighters; they accepted death as part of their calling. Not so he. And as far as they could see, he was numb, not reacting with the expected grief of loss. He was distantly amused by their concern; did they think he would break and lose his hold on sanity at any moment?   
  
They just didn't understand. He didn't need to grieve because she was coming back. He kept telling himself that. He held back the memories the sight of her raised and the ache of seeing her bloodied and broken and kept telling himself that.   
  
  
Note: Sun Tzu in the _Art of War_ stated that an army should not be directed from within. If a general is in the thick of his troops, he is liable to misjudge the position as a whole and give wrong orders.  
  
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Feedback is very much adored. =) 


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight: Aftermath

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 10 February 2003  
  
* Sorry this is late! And thanks to Moreta for so graciously agreeing to be my interim editor while my regular editor's away for a week!  
  
  
~ Thirty Eight ~   
  
Waking. The languorous return of awareness. He shared it with her, through the light touch he maintained on her mind. The first thing she noticed was how stiff her entire body felt. She shifted minutely and he felt through the link, the pain in her chest that caused her to abandon that course of action. Cautiously, she opened her eyes to find an unfamiliar ceiling above her. He followed her train of thought as her mind groped instinctively to orient herself. Breath choked painfully as memory caught up with her.  
  
He watched her chest heave with a sharp intake of air and her lips twisted in remembered sorrow, then formed a soundless 'no' in denial. Deliberately, he moved, noting as the motion registered in the periphery of her vision. Her head turned slowly on the pillow. When she saw who it was, she reversed the action. He felt the sharp stab of loathing and frustration that went through her; loathing for him, frustration at her inability to escape his presence.  
  
Jerrick, seated by her bed, leaned forward with an elbow planted on each knee and steepled his fingers. He regarded her dispassionately. "I could say well done, but you wouldn't appreciate the praise. I'll advise you instead to deal with it. We both know it had to be done and so did he; there was no other way."  
  
"That's a lie. If it weren't for your self-centeredness, it would never have come to this," she said as forcefully as she could, staring resolutely at the pristine white plaster above her. He felt the sting of her eyes, burning and dry.   
  
"It takes two to tango, or so they say," he said acidly, "I might point out that you agreed to this bargain freely. Neither am I the only one who stands to gain. If it weren't for me, you would never have been offered your second chance."   
  
"This is not the price I would have paid. Monstrosities like Kier Achmed and Ambrose Meremoth deserved to die. But Athanasia Omar was... good. If it left up to me, this undertaking would have stopped there," she vowed.  
  
"You thought that all Old Ones are evil. You thought you were doing the world a favor by ridding it of them." He felt her pang of guilt as his statement of facts fell like accusations on her ears. "It never occurred to you that they simply _are_ and they go through lives of their own in whatever strange fashion they choose. It is your own fault for letting your prejudices dictate your actions. Now that you have been proven wrong, do not try and cast all the blame on me!" he retorted heatedly. She made no reply, but he sensed her intractability and tried another tact.   
  
"What if the other three are as vile as the first two were?"  
  
"What if they aren't?" she countered immediately.   
  
"You already know for a fact that the one called Klaus, at least, deserves his fate," Jerrick reminded pointedly. Then he went on, wearily. "Elena, finish this. You've already passed the point of return. You know as well as I do that in this, it is all or nothing."  
  
The twist in her lips clued him that she doubted his words. Again, he changed his approach. His voice hardened. "Think of the consequences if you don't complete the task. Do you want to live immortal and invulnerable for all eternity?"  
  
Her head turned marginally, enough for her to shoot him a poisonous look. He ignored it, for the link showed him her rebellious acquiescence; she would not balk at their agreement now. She had no other option; she preserved her own sense of self-interest as well. He turned to a different matter, distracting her. "Don't you want to know what happened after you were stabbed?"  
  
Her newly-healed heart began to pound as the question sunk in. He caught the mental images her imagination showed her as speculation ran rampant. None of the visions were favorable.  
  
"What happened?" she asked finally in a near-whisper.   
  
He gave her the run down in chronological order. "There were humans living in the clan. One came down the hall. Gabrielle made the mistake of letting her live. She brought down the entire clan on the team. She died for her folly. Trent died as well. Maddy went down – but she survived – leaving Ben and Alvin guarding one door each. The ones outside fared better.   
  
"The two women in the room didn't get through the team; they were in the ceremonial chamber already. Apparently, the younger one was suppose to become a vampire that night," Jerrick reported, inflectionless. It was something they had not been prepared for but Jerrick did not apologize or make excuses. And besides, he thought, the outcome of that misadventure had not been altogether bad.   
  
"They chose a grand time to appear! If they had come before or after the unmaking, I might have been able to act against them," she said. The frustration that rang in her voice would have been obvious even without the emotion searing like a beacon in her mind. "As it was, I was too caught up to do more than stand there and take the hit–" she broke off with a tiny gasp of horror and a sinking sensation in her stomach. Jerrick knew that exact instant her mind lit on the unleashing of the accumulated Power.  
  
"What happened?" she asked a second time. No need to define what she was referring to.  
  
"All went well," he said in a reassuring tone. "Your subconscious took over and channeled the Power through your gift. It neatly solves our other problem; there won't be a mob of fanatic vampires hunting us down in some misguided sense of revenge."  
  
It took a while for his vague account to be assimilated and then he watched as realization bloomed in her mind. ::...won't be... vampires…:: The thought echoed in her head hollowly. "What do you mean, channeled Power through my gift?" she hissed in dawning horror.  
  
"Turning," he said shortly, matter-of-fact. Then he let his voice take on tones of excitement. "Now I understand why you were given that ability. It all fits. You're supposed to take the Power loosed when an Old One is unmade and Turn vampires back into humans." If he was satisfied, even smug, she was not. A sick feeling settled in her stomach and she felt bile rise up her throat. He heard her next question before she spoke it.  
  
"Are you telling me," she asked slowly, carefully, "That I Turned _all the vampires in that clan against their will_?"   
  
He met her eye as squarely as the position of her head would allow. "Yes." Her mind overturned in turmoil, emotions too strong for her to find words. He let go of the link then; there was no further need for it. "I either wiped their minds or planted false memories on them. My agents are scattering them to various surrounding towns as we speak. The vampires will wake with no memory of being other than human."  
  
Elena turned on her side, presenting him with her back. Her fist thumped on the mattress in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "No...no..." she whispered tearily. He rose and took a limping step towards her, wondering if he should have kept the link open a while longer. "Get away!" she hissed at him when his hand was an inch away from touching her trembling shoulder.   
  
He let his hand fall to his side but did not retreat otherwise. "Calm yourself," he commanded flatly. "It was best for everyone. Would you have them live with the grief of losing their 'father' in all but blood? Or for us to forever dodge their vengeance?"  
  
She flung a hand at him, unmindful of her recovering injury. "Get away from me!" she shouted wildly. Behind him, he heard the door open as her cry summoned Madelene. "Jerrick, maybe you should let Elena rest quietly a while," she said diplomatically. She bustled into the room, as brisk as if she did not carry marks of recent wounds herself. Thankfully, Omar's children were peaceable for the most part and merely wanted to get past her to their sire. Had it not been for their governing philosophy, Maddy would have lost her life along with the others. As it was, her body would bear scars to the end of her days.  
  
Clearly evicted, Jerrick spared her an unnerving stare before withdrawing with ill grace. When he was gone, Maddy subsided from fussing over her patient. "Elena. Have a care for my handiwork," she said gently, coaxing with a weak attempt at humor. "Is there anything I can get you?"  
  
Elena still had her back turned to the rest of the room. She shook her head mutely. "Just leave me alone. Please," she begged in a desperate whisper. Maddy laid a hand on Elena's shoulder, a gesture the blonde allowed from the healer where she had rejected Jerrick's touch. The healer felt the fine tremors that ran through the slender body, but refrained from comment. "If you need me, call," the witch said in parting.   
  
When she was sure she was alone, Elena let out a breath she had been holding in. Tears slipped over her skin, tracing an awkward path over the bridge of her nose and down the other side of her face to disappear into the pillow. Each silent sob brought wrenching pain from her injuries but she barely noticed; the mental and emotional hurt was so much greater.   
  
"I'm sorry," she cried silently to the memory of Athanasia Omar. "I promised to use my gift to help and I promised to protect your children. But not like that, oh, not like that at all!  
  
"And you won't even live on in their memories and hearts! They won't remember you, they'll forget all you've done for them, all you've taught them!" She dissolved into tears then, sore to her very being for breaking his trust and letting him down. It was the least she could have done since she could not spare him, and she had failed even in that.   
  
***   
  
Eiran sat by his window. It was night and he felt the stillness envelope him. In his hands, he gently cradled a simple picture frame. The moonlight through the casement was sufficient to show the smiling faces of the couple in the photograph, a moment of happiness captured and immortalized beneath the pane of glass.   
  
The girl's rich mahogany hair cascaded over one shoulder as she leaned against the boy, arms thrown around his neck from behind. He in turn had one hand clasped around her wrist, cheek turned to lay against hers, eyes shining with quiet joy.  
  
Eiran stared at the picture, with its color bleached in the moonlight. He looked much the same; a bare year had passed since he had been Turned and resumed the aging process. The girl's bright smile seemed to radiate from the picture, imbuing a still image with the essence of her vitality and personality. A thousand memories flashed in his mind's eye, fragments of remembered conversation sounded in his head. "It is not days that we remember," he quoted softly, "But moments." He sighed, trailing a finger over her face, trying to imagine that he was touching warm flesh.   
  
"Grace, sweet," he began, searching for words to express the quandary he felt inside. "I still love you. And not a day goes by without me missing you. I wish you were here..." If she had been there, this dilemma would never have come about – would it? If she had been here, she would only be hurt by his infidelity... He grimaced impatiently. He had enough trouble without borrowing more from what-ifs and might-have-beens.   
  
It had taken him a long time to come to terms with having killed her. In the end, it was she who had released him. He had known her too well after their time together; in the midst of his guilt and self-recriminations, his subconscious had supplied the response she would have given, had she been around to deliver it herself.   
  
"Shall I be a harridan and yammer about how you should have changed me into a vampire when I asked?" he could almost hear her say in a tart tone. "What would that have gained us then? We would have been vampires for eternity, and you hating every moment of it. If things _hadn't_ run the way it did, you wouldn't have drawn Elena's attention and would never have been Turned." The irony had not been lost to Eiran. Given a choice between Grace and humanity, what would he have knowingly chosen? Shuddering, he had been thankful to never have been faced with that wrenching decision.  
  
His mind wheeled, coming back to the present, where he faced another difficult conversation with her ghost. How to tell the woman you love, he wondered, that you might be in love with someone else? She had been gone a year, but it did not lessen the sense of guilt and betrayal he felt.   
  
But even now, he could easily hear her saying in fondly scolding tones, "Eiran Blake, you really are hopeless sometimes. You finally got what you've always craved and wished for but could never hope to have; humanity! So I can't be there to share it with you. Fish-sticks!" Eiran nearly smiled; how she had hated seafood. "That's no excuse to waste the chance," she went on in his head, "Live! Laugh, cry, fight, and yes, love!" He ought to have known that she already know what was on his mind and in his heart. She would probably have known before he realized it himself. He drew in an unsteady breath, released it in an equally shaky sigh. "Oh, sweet," he started again. She didn't let him talk this time either. "Don't 'oh sweet' me! Just get off your behind and go! She needs you now!"  
  
As if on cue, he heard Elena cry out. He was scarcely aware that he moved, but suddenly found himself out of his chair and bursting through Elena's door. His hand groped for and found the light switch. He flipped the knob and the room flooded with light.  
  
She was sitting up in bed, knees drawn in beneath the covers and head buried in the sheets. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her hair, loose and tangled, fell around her, making her look, very briefly, very bizarrely, like Cousin It.   
  
::How could Grace – he – have known–?:: And then all other considerations were banished. "Elena?" His gentle query drew no response from her. He approached with quick steps. Behind him, the others crowded at the threshold, alerted by her call. He heard Maddy shoo everyone else off when it became apparent that there were no attacks. Having sent them back to their beds, the healer cast a last, measuring glance into the room and nodded. She closed the door, leaving it open a crack.   
  
Eiran could see Elena's body trembling. Cautiously, he perched a hip on the bed and laid a hand lightly on one shaking shoulder. "Elena?" he tried again. This time, her shoulders heaved under his hand as she pulled in a long, calming breath. She lifted her head and met his concerned gaze in acknowledgement.   
  
"Sorry" she murmured, brushing away the tears, embarrassed. "Bad dream. Didn't mean to wake you all up."  
  
"It's all right. I was awake anyway," he said ruefully. He watched her push back her golden locks, combing her fingers through them in an automatic gesture of getting it out of her face and semi-organized. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
She looked abstracted. "Hm?"  
  
"The dream. Or...anything at all," he temporized.  
  
"Oh. That." It was obvious by the flash of horror on her face that whatever she had seen was still fresh in her mind, the fear still raw. His hand, still on her shoulder, squeezed lightly in an attempt to reassure. She gazed at him solemnly, and Eiran had the unsettling feeling that she was taking his measure. He nearly withdrew the offer to talk but she nodded slowly. She placed a hand over his on her shoulder and squeezed in return. "You'd understand, wouldn't you?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. The wan smile she gave him held gratitude for his constant support of her and made his heart lurch spasmodically.  
  
She slid backwards, propping a pillow behind her back and leaning against the headboard. She drew her legs up under the covers, rested crossed arms atop them and perched her chin at the back of one wrist. Her posture was compact, a protective ball, an upright version of the fetal curl. He wondered if she noticed. He planted his hand beside his hip and he rested his weight on it.   
  
Her eyes dropped to the covers as she spoke. From her blank expression, Eiran guessed that she wasn't seeing the abstract floral print of the bedspread. "I dreamt that I lost control and Turned all the vampires against their will. I saw Stefan and Damon among them. They were angry and confused. And then I turned and saw my sister and aunt, and my childhood friends. They had fangs; they'd all become vampires. It was like I switched them, vampire for human. They closed in around me, screaming accusations, pleading for me to change them back–"  
  
Elena broke off and closed her eyes. She drew another deep breath before she opened them and looked at him with an empty smile. "Well. You can imagine my relief when I woke up to realize that it wasn't real!" she said, injecting a false light tone into her voice.   
  
He did not return her attempt at levity. "I don't think you can change people into vampires," he offered cautiously. "But the first part of the dream...It's what you're really afraid of, isn't it? Changing vampires against their will."  
  
Her smile slipped, then disappeared altogether. "Of course." Her head bowed with the admission.   
  
"I _do_ understand how you feel. I even agree with you, for most part. But... let me play the devil's advocate for a bit," he said, wanting to put the situation into perspective. Maybe if she saw things from a different angle, she would realize that she was hurting herself for no reason. "Most people wouldn't see a moral dilemma in this. Vampires were human once. It's balance of a sort, for them to become human again."  
  
"It's not my place to decide that," she said firmly. "If I Turn them without their consent, I am no different from the vampire that changes a human against their will. My role is to help them if they should want to return, not dictate to them!"  
  
He had no answer to that vehement response and the silence drew out for a long time. When Elena broke it, it took him a moment to realize that she had spoken.  
  
"And besides," she breathed, "I have promises to keep."  
  
"Promises?" he asked.  
  
"I made Omar three promises." Her head came up, showing a hint of the proud old Elena Gilbert. He must have looked confused. "The Old One," she clarified. Her reply only confounded him more. "You made promises to an Old One? Why?"  
  
She stared at him directly and he felt anew the full force of her deep blue eyes. Their color reminded him of the talisman he had worn for thirty years, the curse she had released him from. He felt his breath catch and hoped she did not notice.   
  
"It was all I could do for him," she whispered at last. He refrained from asking why she would need to do _anything_ for one of _them_ and waited for her to continue. She laid her chin back atop her hand and spoke broodingly. "That girl had it right. He didn't deserve to die," she broke off again. Eiran could see her frustration as she struggled to convey how she felt and what she knew.  
  
"The others – Kier Achmed, Ambrose Meremoth – their Names mean death. They thrive on it. Athanasia Omar means everlasting life. All he cared about was giving and preserving life. Not just existence, but _living_; the essence of life. Emotions. Actions. Experiences. Am I making any sense?" she demanded of him.  
  
"Yes. I think I see," Eiran enunciated slowly. And yet, at the same time, his mind turned to others like himself who had been forced to live off other people like parasites. In his head, he saw victims robbed of their sanity by contact with vampires and others whose lives were stolen outright. "But, his good intentions created a race of dangerous predators. And through them, he brought torment to so many–"   
  
"He wouldn't have hurt anyone! Names do not lie," Elena retorted hotly. She uncoiled from her position, hands flattened against the bed on either side of her and legs straightening.   
  
"No, I'm not saying _he_ would, personally," Eiran agreed evenly. "But not everyone has his scruples. Or the benefit of his influence." Now it was she who had no answer. "Let's not forget that he got his power from other living creatures. And his followers don't drink tomato juice either. Don't romanticize him, Elena," he said quietly.   
  
"I'm not!" she flared. She made a slashing motion with one hand. "All this is besides the point. He was _good_. Decent. If there were more people like him, the world would be a better place."  
  
"Elena–"  
  
"Stop it, Eiran. You didn't know him, you don't understand," she snapped. "I don't want to hear anymore," she said angrily. She was being unreasonable. It was obvious that she did not want him to destroy her shining mental image of the Old One. Didn't she see that by clinging to that image, she was only hurting herself?  
  
He took a calming breath and inclined his head. She was in no frame of mind to listen just then. An awkward silence ensued.  
  
"What were your three promises?" he asked finally, to break the uneasy stillness.  
  
She had resumed her curled position by then. "Not to harm his children. To only use my gift to help those who don't want to be vampires." She paused and looked up at him as she recited the third vow. "And not to cry for him." Her lips twisted wryly. "Does that make me thrice forsworn, do you think?" She didn't sound concerned about breaking the third promise; it was the first two that weighed on her.  
  
"I...I'm afraid so," he replied neutrally.   
  
"Darn," she said with irony. She sighed. "Oh Eiran. What am I to do?"  
  
"About what, milady?"   
  
She was so distracted that she didn't notice his use of the old address. "About this new development. Channeling the Old One's Power to Turn vampires. Now that Trent–" she paused to steady her voice, "We'll need to find an alternative way to dispel the Power harmlessly. Magic and healing don't take up enough of it. Jerrick," her voice hardened at the mention, "Will seize this new option rather than 'waste time' finding another way." Her features drew together in determined lines. "I _won't_ Turn vampires by force. I _won't_!" She thumped the bed with one fist to emphasize her point. Eiran saw her wince and one hand go to her wound.   
  
"Be careful," he admonished, closing his fingers urgently over the fist that still lay on the bed. "Maddy has enough to do with Ben and the others' injuries, not to mention keeping up her own strength, to patch you back up all over again.   
  
A guilty look passed over her face briefly and he felt her relax. "That's better. Now, it's late and if you don't get your rest, Maddy will come after my neck." She rearranged herself in preparation of going back to sleep but her eyes were still open and lucid where her face lay in the crook of one elbow.   
  
"I won't misuse my gift like that," she repeated."It's _wrong_. Even without my promise–" She broke off and brooded. "Do you know what he said to me? He said he didn't blame me for what I was doing. He knew why I was doing it and _let_ me do it. He _sacrificed_ himself to my duty, my benefit." No need to specify who _he_ was.   
  
She was getting worked up again. He leaned forward to lay a finger across her lips. She quieted at the touch and her eyes locked on his. The contact sent a jolt up his arm, as if he had been electrocuted. "Sh," he managed to say soothingly. "Rest now." The expression in her eyes – hunger and loneliness – made his throat constrict. They were so close. If he moved forward just a little and tilted his head to one side...  
  
Elena blinked, as if coming out of a daze. She smiled and her head bobbed a little on the pillow. "Right. Think Maddy," she said wryly.  
  
The spell was broken. Eiran felt a small smile touch his own mouth as he drew back, but inside, he was still shaking from the near encounter. "You got it," he replied softly. He rose and walked towards the door. One hand on the light switch, he turned to look at her, "Good night, Elena."  
  
She momentarily looked as if she wanted to tell him not to leave her alone, or perhaps to leave the light on. But all she said was, "Good night, Eiran. And thank you."  
  
"My pleasure," he replied, and threw the switch.  
  
Back in his room, he buried his face in his hands. When he finally looked up, a glint of light drew him to the window. The picture frame lay on the floor, having fallen forgotten from his lap as he rose abruptly. He bent to pick it up and stared again at the smiling girl in the photo.   
  
***   
  
Their band of nine made their way across the airfield to the waiting plane. Gusts snatched the edges of their coats and at their hair. Elena's golden locks became a shining banner against a sky streaked with the pink of dawn. Eiran was a dark figure beside her, a pseudo shadow.  
  
Pale blue eyes trained on the blonde broodingly. Like the rest of the team, he was aware of her nightmares. Eiran and Madelene had taken to sitting by her bedside at night. The healer's soporifics seemed to have little effect in calming her troubled spirit.   
  
They had lingered in Turkey to allow her wound to close and her strength to recover enough to endure the journey. And now they were going home.  
  
During those idle days, Jerrick had been embroiled in many impromptu team meetings. The fact that all the vampires in the two-mile radius of the Palace had been Turned had also been the topic of spirited discussion. Those who truly hated vampires had been eager to use Elena's abilities as a weapon. Others who enjoyed the challenge of actually fighting vampires had balked at the idea.  
  
There had been no point trying to hide Elena's invulnerability. In view of that, some of the hunters felt that they were no longer needed for the missions. What Jerrick could not divulge was that, if his plan was to be implemented, the hunters would be needed more than ever before.   
  
He felt the burn of discontent and his heart stirred, disquieted. He wanted closure: he yearned to put his half-formed plan into motion, to see if it gained him the desired outcome. All this would have to wait until they got back to Seattle, however.   
  
He mounted the stairs and took his seat. Across the aisle, Elena stared out the window. Eiran finished storing their luggage in the overhead compartment and slid into the seat beside her. The rest of their party spread out in pairs and trios.   
  
As he pretended to pay polite attention to the air stewardess demonstrating the safety procedures, his mind mulled over Elena. He had not imagined they would come to be at such bitter odds. Perhaps it was better this way, in the end, he reflected.   
  
However, she had to get over her guilt of changing vampires, if she was to fall in with his plan. Pushing her may drive her dangerously close to the edge. It was time for an oblique approach.   
  
The image of a petite girl, black hair streaked with dark pink and a ferocious scowl marring her brow, rose to mind. And, he mused, he had just the tool he needed.  
  
He would find out if he was right, when they got back to Seattle.  
  
  
NOTE: (I doubt this is really necessary, but just in case) Cousin It is from the Addams Family, a creature that basically looks like a mound of hair with no other visible features or limbs.  
  
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback really makes a difference. Thanks. =) 


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine: Reunion

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 17 February 2003  
  
* Late again! Let me know if you think it was worth the wait. Thanks again to Moreta for beta-ing!  
  
  
~ Thirty Nine ~  
  
Samar rolled onto her back, drawing a deep, luxurious breath. Fragments of a bizarre but pleasant dream floated through her half-awake mind. The urgent beat of a flamenco-like melody had pounded through the air and she had been moving with it. Tristan, predictably, had been the _tocaor_, the guitarist. And her partner had been–  
  
Her brow puckered in vexation. She couldn't remember. With a twitch of her nose, she dismissed that line of thought. Her fingers reached out, touching the headboard, her toes stretched and her back arched. She released her breath in a contented sigh.   
  
The furniture in their underground prison may be mismatched but not at all shabby. She groped with one blind hand for the edge of the cover, ready to turn on her side again, pull the duvet up to her chin and snuggle back into dreamland.   
  
Her fingers found the end of the material, but it resisted her tug. Frowning, she opened her eyes–  
  
–and emitted a blood-curdling shriek.  
  
"What are you doing in my room?" she yelped. Makoe, half-seen in the dark, even with vampire vision, had a fistful of her duvet in one hand and one hip perched on her bed.   
  
"Get up," he said curtly instead of answering her question. She yanked the covers forcefully out of his grasp and scooted back against the headboard, glaring at him mutinously, while her racing heart slowed to a normal rhythm.  
  
"Why?" she demanded, painfully conscious of the fact that she was only clad in a tank top and a matching pair of short shorts. She clutched her comforter to her chin convulsively, trying not to be too obvious as to draw his attention.   
  
"We have a visitor."  
  
The announcement captured her attention but only momentarily. "So? That doesn't explain what you're doing in my room?" she challenged.   
  
The flat look he gave her was more felt than seen. She calmed down a little, but raised her eyebrows, knowing he would see the gesture. "Your presence was requested. Your brother won't let our visitor out of his sight and Leon refuses to 'invade the privacy of your room'. That leaves me, unless you'd rather have Salvatore come wake up you?"  
  
Samar was assaulted with a sudden vision of waking up to the gorgeous Italian vampire. Her imagination got the better of her and she was carried off on a delicious flight of fancy for several moments.   
  
"And what are the chances of Tristan allowing that?" Makoe's question jerked her awareness back to the present. Even in the darkness, she swore that she saw his eyes gleam knowingly.  
  
She felt blood rise to heat her cheeks and hoped he wouldn't notice. "Who is it?" she asked, not budging.  
  
"Jerrick."  
  
Her expression went slack with surprise, then wary. What game was Jerrick playing now? "Fine," she said shortly. "Get out; I need to get dressed."  
  
He rose, causing the bed to lift as his weight eased off it. Samar's shoulders relaxed. She had not realized how they had tightened defensively until that moment.   
  
Makoe opened the door and was backlit briefly while he turned back to look at her. She kept perfectly still, huddled behind her concealing bedspread. "Be quick," he said before shutting the door and leaving her in darkness again.  
  
***  
  
Bare minutes later, Makoe heard a step in the corridor beside him; Samar had arrived. The tension in the main room was palpable by then. He was leaning against the wall beside the corridor that led to her room. Leon was seated sedately on the couch, seeming relaxed if one did not look too closely. Stefan resembled nothing so much as a watchful deer, poised and still, head raised alertly. Tristan was standing before the other hallway, radiating barely leashed force, hazel eyes trained steadily on the sixth person in the room.   
  
Jerrick himself stood as if he had just stepped through the threshold. He turned his head towards Samar and nodded to acknowledge her presence. Wordlessly, he took three limping strides to the coffee table and opened his fist. Stepping back, he waved a hand as if in invitation. Four familiar amulets of lapis lazuli lay on the table; Samar's oval pendant on its slim silver chain, Tristan's wristband, Leon's plain gold ring and Makoe's own ornate silver one.   
  
Everyone looked at the objects on the table, and then four pairs of eyes went to Stefan, and then to Jerrick.  
  
"You four are free to go," their mysterious captor said dismissively.   
  
"Four?" Leon leaned forward. "What about Stefan?"  
  
"That does not concern you," Jerrick said tranquilly.   
  
"The hell," Tristan scoffed. "You capture us, throw us in here for a month and now you say 'go' and expect us to just scuttle off like frightened mice?" He flashed his fangs threateningly.  
  
"Stefan's one of us now," Leon said in quiet counterpoint to the tall, volatile vampire. "What concerns him concerns us all." Makoe noted the sharp, incredulous look the Italian threw Leon at the first pronouncement. He had obviously been a lone wolf for too long to realize when he had been adopted.   
  
Jerrick looked from one speaker to another. It was hard to tell what he was thinking; his face was as bland as Makoe's own.   
  
"Are you so certain you want to stay? What if his fate is to die?"  
  
"Why keep us here for so long if all you wanted to do was kill us?" Leon countered reasonably.   
  
"There may have been reasons for that," Jerrick parried casually. His tone hardened. "Or no reason at all. Will you take that chance?" The challenge hung in the air like a bad omen. Jerrick's gaze was fixed on Leon. Makoe stirred at last.   
  
He carried the blood of the ancient free Gauls on the distaff side. His mother's people had once revered the elite fellowship who were the teachers, healers, judges and priests of their society; the druids. He had been brought up to hold them in esteem and never question them. He remembered the uncanny sense he had had when they were captured. The feeling had lingered in his mind, teasing him. Something in him looked at the lame man in their midst and said–  
  
::Druid. Whatever your cause, I know your kind. You serve the greater good,:: he sent privately, straightening. The pale blue eyes flicked a glance his way but he got no recognition beyond that. Makoe folded his arms deliberately. "I'll stay," he cast his vote. Now Salvatore was looking at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He met the green eyes blandly.   
  
"Stay," Leon seconded. He hesitated momentarily but his answer came in a firm tone. Across the room, Tristan scowled, clearly unhappy with the decision.  
  
"Me too," Samar piped up unexpectedly. Makoe felt his lips twitch, threatening to smile, as the other two turned to stare at her. Leon looked dismayed, either having forgotten her presence or expecting her to go back to the house and stay there until this matter had blown over. ::No such luck, hunt-mate,:: he thought to himself. Tristan opened his mouth to veto her decision but she beat him to it. "I'm _not_ about to sit this one out while you three – four – go off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what!" she said sharply. "If you're staying, then so am I. Or aren't I one of you, too?" she asked Leon, who had no answer for such a question. Her jaw tilted at an aggressive angle as she shot a look at her brother. "And if you say one word about me being a girl and not able to take care of myself, Tristan D'Angelo..." she trailed off meaningfully.  
  
"You waste my time." Jerrick was looking at Stefan although he addressed the other four. "This is your last chance. There will be no turning back after this: decide."  
  
Tristan looked torn. For a moment, it actually seemed as if he really would abandon his three hunt-mates and leave. Makoe watched his every move with cold eyes. Samar may have been a statue except that she blinked. Leon tensed visibly. Then Tristan's lips pulled back over his fangs. "Stay." His snarl of frustration was directed at the other three vampires.  
  
Jerrick looked away from Stefan, resting his eyes on each of the other four in turn. "So." There was finality in that monosyllable. "Face the consequence of your choice," he said, all the warning they had. The next moment, Makoe felt excruciating pain lance him as his multiple shields were penetrated and control of his mind was ceased forcibly.  
  
He heard Samar scream as he fell to his knees and curled forward, clutching his head in both hands. Tristan ripped off an oath. Makoe did not register Stefan or Leon's reactions. Images, concepts, accounts flashed in his head, lightning fast but, amazingly, his mind was able to absorb it. Knowledge and understanding, transferred in a bare eye blink.   
  
And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.   
  
Makoe tipped forward, one hand splayed on the floor, supporting him. He gasped for breath as if he had been running full tilt for miles. What had happened? He suddenly knew – understood – so many things. Elena and her return, her promise, the fights with the Old Ones, the nature of Old Ones and how vampires came into existence...   
  
Jerrick had planted all this knowledge on him, he realized belatedly, through mind-to-mind contact, compressing and relaying the information in all its richness. There was so much to take in and digest at once; his senses were dazed and muddled. He felt oddly divided as if he had been in many places and times at once.  
  
When the information had sorted itself out in his mind and he was able to take in his surroundings once again, he looked up to catch Samar pushing hair back from her face and looking murderous. Tristan had a matching expression on his face, apparently taking the invasion with bad grace.   
  
Leon was shaking his head as if to clear it. And Stefan...  
  
The Italian vampire was on his feet, tension in every line of his stance. His eyes were huge and ablaze like Makoe had never seen before. "Elena," the Italian breathed. The name was revelation and demand at once. Jerrick held out a hand, palm up, offering him something. It was a silver ring, as heavy and ornate as Makoe's, set with a familiar deep blue stone.   
  
"Go. She needs you now," Jerrick said, sounding almost compassionate.  
  
The Italian needed no second urging. Snatching up the talisman, he slipped it on with blind, familiar ease and left the room at a run. Watching him go, Makoe found himself able to pinpoint where the girl was and precisely how to get to her. The ward has been lifted, he noticed absently as Stefan catapulted through the threshold unhindered. Then Makoe turned his cool gray eyes back on the red-headed man standing gracelessly before him.   
  
Jerrick was regarding the four remaining vampires. "I suppose you'll have questions," he said, sounding resigned. Without invitation, he hobbled to one of the armchairs, and sat down facing Leon. Makoe was struck by the incongruity of such physical frailness from one so Powerful.   
  
::It serves its purpose as well,:: was the discreet reply to his unspoken thought. Makoe nearly recoiled at having his thoughts read so easily. He moved to take up the chair perpendicular to the newcomer. Samar flowed over to occupy the seat beside Leon. Tristan stood opposite Makoe, arms crossed and glowering at Jerrick.   
  
"So... the prophecy was a sham," Leon began. It was more statement than question.   
  
"A lure," Jerrick clarified. "To draw out the Old One known as Nigel Emery. You witnessed his unmaking, I believe." Leon nodded.   
  
"That was one of the reasons for holding you captive. I had to make sure word did not reach the other Old Ones that one of their numbers had been destroyed."  
  
"And now that's not a factor?" Samar asked, skeptical, colliding with Leon's, "What are the other reasons?"  
  
"Not really," Jerrick said in answer to Samar's question. "For one, we have eradicated three of the seven Old Ones. We are – or more accurately, Elena is – now ready to face the other four. Her skills have developed and sharpened. We need not fear the other four anymore.  
  
"For another, did you not just agree to join us?"  
  
"What?" Tristan yelped. Samar stared at him, jaw gaping.  
  
"Stefan's affair is your affair, you said. And, believe me, he _will_ be part of this." Jerrick smiled mirthlessly. "Because of Elena, you would not be able to pry him away with a crowbar."  
  
"Get real," the tall vampire snorted. "Sure, you're not killing vampires but you certainly aren't doing us any favors. Give us _one_ good reason for joining you?"  
  
A dark auburn eyebrow quirked. "Just one?" Jerrick asked.  
  
Makoe could see that Leon was thinking better of the dare but Tristan did not give him time to intercede. "Just one."   
  
Jerrick looked from one face to another, as if the reason could be found there. Maybe it was. At length, he said, quietly, "For the same reason you fight vampire hunters; for the thrill and the challenge." A beat of silence as everyone absorbed this. Jerrick leaned forward, mirroring Leon's pose. The change in posture added weight and emphasis to his words. "Think about it," he said persuasively. "Going up against an Old One? Wouldn't that be a greater challenge than fighting weakling humans?"  
  
Makoe caught the odd, two-edged gleam in Leon's eyes. It was different from the spark he saw in Samar. She simply looked intrigued. Tristan's expression was uncharacteristically closed and guarded.   
  
No one said anything for all of two seconds. Jerrick lost his sense of urgency and leaned back, a sweep of a hand at the amulets still lying on the table indicating that they should reclaim and don their respective talismans. "I'll let you think on these things. In the meantime, let me show you to the main house. Don't worry about your things; someone will be along presently to move them."  
  
***  
  
Elena...  
  
Stefan was aware of nothing but his goal. He passed through the mansion full of hunters, unheeding of the danger. His new knowledge burned in him, a bright beacon, drawing him to the girl he knew slept in a room on the first floor.   
  
She had not betrayed him.  
  
Their time together – it had been no lie. She had done it all – was doing it all – for him. For them. For their life together. It gave him shivers to think of her facing such dangers alone, risking life, limb and sanity to gain them that second chance. As before, she had sacrificed for him.  
  
And he had doubted her. He grimaced in self-disgust but pushed the emotion aside as irrelevant. What mattered was Elena. He would not doubt her again. And now she needed him.   
  
Well, she would have him.  
  
The little fool. His brow creased in frustration. Why hadn't she told him? Well, he thought with satisfaction as he took the stairs two at a time, he would get a chance to ask her. He went down the hallway at a half-run. He reached the appropriate door and found it open a crack. He reached out with fingers that trembled slightly and pushed.   
  
***  
  
"_You said you'd be my guardian angel._" Margaret reminded. She advanced, hands held out imploringly. "_Why, Elena? Why did you turn me into a monster instead?_"  
  
"_No!_" she screamed. She backed away, matching her baby sister step for step. "_I didn't mean to–_"  
  
"_Elena. It hurts._" Fangs slid out to indent Margaret's kewpie lips. "_It hurts so much._" She darted forward, vampire fast and Elena found herself held in unbreakable grip and wrestled to the ground. "_Help me,_" Margaret pleaded softly, innocently as she lowered her head to her older sister's neck. "_This will help._"   
  
Elena woke up screaming.   
  
Instantly, she felt warm and solid arms around her, comforting and secure. _Eiran._ These days, he kept her door slightly ajar. He did the same to his room just across the hall, so that he would hear and be ready if she needed him.   
  
She mentally chastised herself for causing trouble. No matter how many times she had this dream, or some variation of it, it never failed to unnerve her. She drew air in gulps, half gasping in panic and struggling to calm herself. Her skin felt clammy with perspiration.   
  
She closed her eyes and relaxed in the embrace. This was the first time Eiran had held her like this. A detached part of her mind told her that it was inappropriate but it felt so _good_ to be held. She hungered for touch. She had become used to having it, in her time with Stefan and its loss left an unexpected need in her. The same abstract part of her had realized, before they left Antalya, just _how_ long lonely she felt. Why, that first night, she had caught herself actually thinking of kissing Eiran! Had it been her imagination or had there been desire in his eyes as well?   
  
Her reminiscing was interrupted as the hands that held her shifted familiarly, flattening against her back and applying pressure. Elena stiffened, alarmed. This touch, as much as she craved it, was not merely comforting, it was...loving.   
  
She tried to draw back, but the arms were insistent. The man who held her buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Elena," he breathed. The voice sent tingles through her; it was achingly familiar and beloved. But it couldn't be...  
  
A soft, choked sound of surprise came from the door. Elena turned her head to see the young man in the doorway. She recognized Eiran although all that was visible was a silhouette. Which meant...  
  
She pushed insistently at the body holding her and lifted her head to look at the face that was half-lit from the wedge of light through the door.   
  
Wavy black hair and sculpted features that could have graced the minted gold florin he kept in his little case. The proud brow, the firm jaw. Eyes with a thin band of brilliant green around fully-dilated pupils.   
  
"Oh..." she gasped softly, staring at him wide-eyed. Disbelieving, she slowly laid a hand against his cheek. "Is it really–?"  
  
The lips that she knew so well smiled, then lowered to caress hers. "Proof enough?" he asked. A silent kind of joy shone on out of his eyes and Elena catapulted back in time, to Fell's Church, a little more than a year ago.   
  
Later, she would remember why she had wanted him gone, would wonder how he got there. But just then, she had no strength for pretense or questions, only emotion. "Stefan!" she cried and threw herself forward. His arms closed around her again and something in the way they held her promised that they would never let her go again.  
  
Eiran and the rest of the world were forgotten until the light switch was abruptly flipped and a voice ordered sharply.   
  
"Hold it right there, vamp!"  
  
Recognizing Taura in battle mode, Elena instinctively twisted to interpose herself between the huntress and Stefan. "No!" she called desperately, but her cry went unheeded. Instead of feeling the blade of a knife busy itself in her flesh, Elena heard the discreet hiss of a silencer and she was jerked forward by the force of the bullet impacting her shoulder. In the ensuing silence, Karen's usually smooth voice delivered a ragged curse.  
  
"Stop!" Elena half-gasped, half-shouted, trying to turn and keep Stefan shielded at the same time. Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire, causing tears to spring into her eyes.  
  
Eiran, sounding stricken and more furious than she had ever heard him, barked, "Stop, you idiots. Karen, put it up." Elena finally managed to turn and knew the exact moment Stefan saw the gunshot wound by the tensing of his muscles. The blood must show up quite clearly against her beige T-shirt nightie. She knew that he would instinctively strike to retaliate. She also realized that she did not have the strength to hold him back.   
  
Instead, she sagged against him as if her strength failed her. He caught and held her, concern overriding his urge to attack.   
  
At the same time, Taura shrilled at Eiran, "Have you gone mad? He's a _vampire_, he'll _kill_ her–"  
  
"No, he won't," Eiran cut her off flatly, interposing himself between the hunters and their prey, another living shield for Stefan. When Taura opened her mouth to retort, he snapped, "Whose ring do you think she wears?"  
  
That shut her up. She stared at Eiran, then Stefan, and finally Elena, who nodded, trying to smile through the haze of pain. Karen looked ready to spit nails. She shot an apologetic look at Elena as she holstered her weapon. "I'll get Maddy," she said shortly and left on her errand. Elena kept one hand on Stefan to still him. She felt his tension as the markswoman left and tried desperately to convey to him that the wound was a small concern.   
  
Eiran eyed Taura until she relaxed, still looking unhappy. The Turned threw a look at the couple on the bed, then clamped an uncharacteristically firm hand on the petite huntress' shoulder and began to steer her out of the room. Taura, blithely ignoring him, fixed Elena in a sharp look. "I'll get this story later, right?" she demanded. Elena nodded agreeably and suppressed a wince when the motion aggravated the injury. "Later," she said, both a promise and a subtle hint. The answer seemed to satisfy Taura; she let Eiran lead her out of the room.   
  
Alone again, Elena relaxed minutely. She looked up to see Stefan's eyes trained on the door, jaw set. Her good hand went to touch his cheek. She was surprised that he caught it, his movements quick and predatory. Her action had the desired effect of gaining his attention, however. He held her hand against his face, as he had before, and looked down at her.  
  
"You're losing a lot of blood," he said, helpless rage in his voice.  
  
"It's all right. Really," she said, trying to sound earnest and dismissive at the same time. _Now_ the questions and complications were surfacing in her mind. "I'll explain – later. But you–how did you–"  
  
She broke off as Maddy swept into the room, a very subdued Karen in her wake. "Excuse me," the healer said to Stefan, appearing completely unfazed to find a vampire in the middle of a hunter stronghold. Then again, it was hard to discern any reaction beyond the ire crackling about the normally tranquil healer.   
  
Gently but deftly, she laid Elena on her stomach and examined the wound. "It just missed the bone," she observed. Out of the corner of her eye, Elena saw the undecipherable look she threw at Karen, who looked grimly stoic.   
  
The healer wasted no time laying out her tools. It was unnerving and messy, getting the bullet out. It was wood-tipped and sharpened, so the results were nastier than if normal bullets had been used. Elena felt faint by the time Maddy dropped the projectile with an air of finality into the waiting bowl.   
  
She sensed the healer gathering herself to do a healing and waved a hand weakly in protest. "You're in no shape to heal a paper cut. Just patch me up; I'll be fine," she insisted. "Then go back to your rest." The fact that the healer pursed her lips but did as Elena told her was a clear sign of just _how_ worn out she was. She cleaned out the wound and bandaged it, then left, taking the basin of bloodied water and her tools with her. Karen silently followed, shutting the door behind her. Something told Elena that the markswoman took a guard's stance on the other side of the wall.   
  
Elena walked a little unsteadily to the bathroom to change into a clean nightie. Having accomplished the task rather awkwardly, she stared at herself in the mirror. There was a surreal quality to it all; Stefan being here, hunters barging into her room, shooting her, then attending to the wound and now leaving her alone with a vampire, and barely anyone even batting an eyelash. Granted, it was the middle of the night and some people tended to have their priorities reorganized when half-asleep, but still...  
  
Grateful that the painkillers were starting to kick in, she went back into the room. Stefan had not moved from his position on the other side of the bed, where he could watch Maddy's ministrations while staying out of the way. She gazed at him, still hardly able to believe that he was truly there. Even half-alert as she was, she sensed the difference in him. Where previously there was stillness and reserve from inward-turned brooding, now he radiated quiet force and an alertness that was part predatory, part defensive watchfulness.  
  
Sliding onto the bed, she took in the changes in him wonderingly. "Stefan," she began. There was so much to be said, so much to be asked, she didn't even know where to start. He solved her dilemma with a finger on her lips. She was momentarily reminded of Eiran doing the same, but Eiran's gesture had been impulsive, his touch shy and tentative. Stefan's finger rested warmly, assuredly on her mouth as he gave a quick shake of his head.   
  
"Rest; let me do the talking," he said. A little taken aback at yet another sign of the change in him, she nodded, then slowly turned to lie on her side so that her good shoulder was propped beneath her. He lay down beside her, mirroring her position. Just having him there, even a foot away, was more blissful that she could ever have imagined.   
  
"I know about why you came back, your bargain. I know about the Old Ones; I know that you've faced three of them already and that there are four more of them out there," he said. There was a pause and he drew a long breath. "What I _don't_ know – what I want to know – is why you didn't tell me. Why did you let me believe the lies?" The question was delivered forcefully, colored with anger and regret.  
  
"To protect you," she said simply, honest at last. "I was – am – afraid for you." Her good hand reached out and her fingers twined with his, squeezing urgently. "Hear me out.  
  
"I didn't remember anything until the Solstice. And then, when I did, I realized how dangerous this would be for you–"  
  
"More dangerous than it is for you?" he rebutted.  
  
"Yes," she said emphatically, and saw his surprise. "For one thing, you're a vampire and I'm working with vampire hunters. For another thing, you could die." She paused to make sure he understood her next words. "I won't. Until my task is done, I'll keep coming back." She let the statement sink in before indicating her wounded shoulder. "So you see, something like this is trivial. On the last strike, I was truly dead, stabbed through the heart, and yet, I came back."  
  
"So, if you fail to complete your task, the price is immortality?" he asked, incredulous.  
  
"Failure," she said ironically, "happens when one stops trying, not when one does not succeed. There can be no failure here; nothing will stop me from trying until I complete the task."  
  
He was arrested, eyes intent on her. "And what if you abandon the task?" he whispered.  
  
"Abandon it?" she breathed. Her mind whirled with new possibilities. Live forever, never having to worry about time or death. She would have the immortality of a vampire – no, an Old One – without any of the limitations and disadvantages. She would remain young and beautiful and she and Stefan would have all eternity together...  
  
But she would spend all of her days running away, for Jerrick would never let her go. He would go to any lengths to force her to finish the task.   
  
And she never be rid of her gift of Turning vampires. She would be cursed to answer their anguish for all time.  
  
"No. I can't." Her voice sounded remarkably steady.  
  
"Why not?" he demanded. No doubt, Elena guessed, he was thinking that this would resolve the issue of her being mortal. He didn't see the price it brought and she could not tell him. She could not explain Jerrick's obsession with the task. And if he found out about her Turning vampires into humans...  
  
"There are reasons. Too many to go into just now." An unfamiliar look of obstinacy settled over his face. "Stefan," she implored softly. He wavered but clearly remained unhappy. "I'll think about it," she promised. "But...let's not discuss this right now." She pleaded silently with him until he gave a reluctant nod.  
  
::Phew!:: she thought, breaking eye contact. ::I'm not sure I can deal with this new, 'strong' Stefan.::  
  
"Now it's my turn," she said, changing the subject. "What are you –? How did you get here?" she blurted.   
  
"It was Jerrick. He told me everything and sent me to you."   
  
Elena's eyes narrowed. "Jerrick," she murmured, the rest of his words unheard. "He brought you here and told you everything?" she asked in a monotone.   
  
She missed the look he shot her, an expression that said she had just confirmed something he had suspected. "No. He caught us that night we saw you in the woods. He's been holding us in one of the underground bunkers ever since."  
  
Her eyelashes swept up and she stared at him wide eyed. "He caught you? But... he said..."   
  
She froze. ::He lied! The bastard lied!:: Rage flowed in her blood like molten rock. ::He let me believe Stefan safely away when all the time, he had him imprisoned!:: Elena realized dimly that she was hyperventilating. She struggled to rise, feeling Stefan's hands help and hinder in turn as he tried to keep her lying down then gave up and supported her into a sitting position. The pain in her shoulder was a dim ache compared to the fury that burned uncontrollably in her mind. She wanted to break things and scream at the top of her lungs but retained enough presence of mind to grit her teeth and hold herself in check.   
  
Her surroundings became a blur she did not register. She stalked out the door, unaware of a bewildered Stefan at her heels and Karen trailing behind them. Down the hall and the grand staircase. Midway, she saw a familiar figure and stopped, paying no attention to the four others with him.   
  
Rage robbed her of words, leaving her speechless and staring at him, wild-eyed, for several seconds.   
  
She didn't notice him glance past her to Karen before returning his attention to her. "Elena?" he asked politely. She was incensed by his bland tone. How dare he act as if nothing was wrong? The sheer force of her emotions felt too great to control. It threatened to overwhelm her. Unconsciously, the energy manifested in the glow she took on when facing an Old One.  
  
"You have a lot to answer for," she hissed.   
  
"Such as?" he asked, sounding almost bored.  
  
"You know very well what I'm referring to. You've been holding him captive for over a month and you told me–"  
  
"That the hunters couldn't find them," he interjected, his calm tone cutting through her tirade. She remembered, then, that those had been his exact words. "Which they didn't. I did." He inclined his head, as if presenting a reasonable fact. "I never said that they had escaped."  
  
She descended the stairs until she stood face to face with him, her white aura growing with each moment. "Is that supposed to make it all right? 'You didn't lie, you merely misled me'?"  
  
"I never pretended that my actions were ethical, Elena. Expedient, but not ethical. You should have realized that by now," he said unflinchingly.   
  
"You...vile snake! You _knew_ that I wanted to keep him safely away and yet you tell him everything and bring him into this house full of hunters eager to kill him. What game are you playing now, Jerrick?" she spat his name out bitterly. She was glowing brightly enough for the people around her to throw shadows.   
  
"I'm reminding you of your purpose, Elena. And since you're doing all this for _him_, isn't it only fair that he be a part of the effort as well?" His words, delivered in the same, reasonable tone, did nothing to pacify her. Her aura was incandescent by then. Anyone else would have trouble looking directly at her but Jerrick continued to gaze at her impassively. Their eyes met and locked; Elena's were blazing blue orbs that raged against him like violent waves, Jerrick's were the light azure of imperturbable rock.  
  
Caught in helpless rage, Elena felt impelled to make one thing clear. "You had better _pray_ that nothing happens to him." Each word was enunciated clearly and heavy with the promise laced in them. "Because if he is harmed in any way, you will _never_ get what you want from me." She whirled and ran back to her room as quickly as her injury would let her, needing to get away, unable to contain her hatred anymore.  
  
  
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really_ makes a difference. Thanks. =) 


	41. Chapter Forty: A New Plan

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 25 February 2003  
  
* Late again! (Are you starting to see a pattern here?) Sorry, dear readers. Just... stuff's been happening. Anyway, refer to plug at end of chapter. =) On a separate note, my editor's back from her little holiday! (So that's one less excuse I can use for being late... )  
~ Forty ~  
  
He watched her run off for the second time.   
  
He did not mistake the movement for a retreat; her emotions had been so strong that he needed no link to sense them. She was not used to containing such strong and violent feelings and she was on the brink of losing control of herself. It was good that a part of her understood this and made her leave so that she could calm down.  
  
Still, he did not have time to brood over her; there were details to see to. Onward, ever onward.  
  
With a thought, he released Karen from the paralysis he had placed her in. She had trailed in behind Elena and Stefan and reached immediately for her gun upon seeing the other vampires. He caught her eye now and shook his head. A jerk of his head indicated that she should follow Elena instead. The sniper shot a last, impassive look at the vampires before complying.  
  
Next, he lifted the damping field he had placed on the household to prevent them from seeing and hearing Elena's outburst. With a tendril of awareness, he reached out and drew a capable servant to him.   
  
He turned to the vampires, gauging their reactions. Leon looked a little taken aback by the scene he had just witnessed. Makoe was inscrutable as always, but tensed. Stefan, standing in the middle of the stairway, was such a gamut of emotions that no one emotion was clearly definable. He wanted to go after Elena but some sense of responsibility to the other vampires held him in place. Samar looked overawed but recovered her wits quickly and Tristan looked more than ready to leave and wash his hands of the entire affair.  
  
Jerrick hadn't missed the bulk of a bandage on Elena's shoulder. "How did that happen?" he asked Stefan, indicating a shoulder. He could already hazard a guess.  
  
"The bullet was meant for me. She blocked it," Stefan said briefly.   
  
Jerrick heard the three quips that rose to Samar's mind in response to Stefan's words. She settled on the third one. "Can't take you anywhere, can we?" she asked rhetorically, shaking her head in mock sadness. He felt the answering wave of amusement from the others as they relaxed but Stefan's response was tinged with grimness and something else.   
  
::Ah...about to have a little 'talk' are we?:: Jerrick thought as the servant arrived. Carefully nonchalant, he said, "Ivan, please show our guests to their rooms...ah, the suite at the end of the first floor east wing. And be so kind as to organize a team to retrieve their belongings from Bunker 23." The man bowed his head graciously, then waved a hand at the vampires to follow him. His expression betrayed no emotion.   
  
Jerrick drew Power into himself, wrapped it around him like a cloak and when he was sure that nothing could be glimpsed through the concealing veil, he sent, ::I needn't remind you that this is a vampire hunter stronghold. Guard yourselves well.:: He watched them go, secure in the knowledge that the compulsions he had laid would hold. If they thought of leaving, their minds would be turned to favor the mission and they would remain.  
  
He was spent, at the edge of his endurance but he waited until they were out of sight before hobbling to his modest room on the ground floor. There, safely away from all eyes, he collapsed onto the bed and let his iron control slip away. A barely audible whimper escaped his lips as he curled on his side into a fetal ball. His face contorted in soul-deep agony and his hands clenched to white knuckled fists.  
  
***  
  
Stefan trailed the other four vampires as they followed the servant. They passed Elena's room and he noted the stunning blonde sharpshooter who leaned carelessly beside the door. She didn't move but he saw her muscles tense as the band went by. He saw Samar's head bow and turn surreptitiously to one side. Following her gaze, he saw the glow beneath the door, visible even though the corridor was lighted.  
  
He stopped at Elena's door. The huntress' turquoise eyes flicked a quick glance his way but she did not challenge his presence. As he opened the door, he heard Makoe say sardonically, ::See you later.::  
  
::Indeed.:: His reply was open to the others and meaningful. As they drew away, he turned his mind to Elena. The brilliance was painful to sensitive vampiric eyes. He tried not to wince and walked towards the shining figure at the heart of the light. He felt Power crackling in the air as he touched her and hesitated. No human held such Power. But if she wasn't human, what was she?  
  
His hand settled on her shoulder and he felt her trembling. Hair that shone like the sun brushed his skin. It had grown noticeably in the month since he last saw her. His fingers found her neck and by touch, he turned her to face him, drew her into his embrace.   
  
::Elena, beloved, it will be all right,:: he said, resting his cheek on the bright head. Slowly, slowly, against his closed eyelids, he saw the light fade as her anger subsided. "You're not really unhappy to have me here?" he murmured into her hair in a weak attempt at humor, without opening his eyes.  
  
The slim hands that encircled him were harder and stronger than he remembered. They tightened, all the answer he needed, although her lips said differently. "I am. I wish you were far away and safe." The head on his shoulder moved and he looked at her. It was strange to see her looking so solemn. "But now that you're here..." her hand slid from around his waist and stole up to his face, caressing. "...I can't bring myself to send you away again..." He heard the anguish in the rasp her soft voice, as opposing needs clashed. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair and he felt his eyelids lower as he savored the longed-for touch. How many times, in moments of loneliness of the past month, had he replayed in his mind their time together?   
  
His fingers splayed against her back, pressed her to him. He lowered his head slowly, tenderly, as if kissing her for the first time. He felt her breath against his lips just before they touched, "I am lost."  
  
***  
  
The four nameless servants filed out, having deposited the vampires' belongings in the various rooms as directed. Ivan inclined his head politely as he shut the door behind him.   
  
Leon caught Makoe's glance. ::One door,:: he said laconically in private mode. No point getting Tristan any more excited than he already was; he might spontaneously combust.   
  
::Easily defensible,:: Leon ventured.  
  
::Or easily contained?::  
  
Samar looked from one to another suspiciously, then glanced at the slouched, sulky form of her brother flung on one of the armchairs in the sitting area. The suite was vaguely reminiscent of their prison, save that one corridor led from the sitting room and the place was ringed with windows. Leon ambled over to one and leaned out on the pretense of looking up at the night sky, but really, to see if it was warded to prevent them from leaving. He stared up at the dark blue heavens, patched with filmy clouds that cloaked the moon.  
  
Turning away from the window, Leon wondered, with an instinct for strategy, if the windows were meant to provide them an easy escape route – or provide multiple entrances for attackers. He was careful not to let his unpleasant speculations reflect in his expression.  
  
Samar threw him another narrow look. He said placidly, "It's late. Better rest while we have peace. Tomorrow – today, actually – will be a full day." That understatement delivered, he went to his room and shut the door. He lay down on the bed, bending one arm to pillow his head in his palm.   
  
He sensed Makoe silently follow his example. Outside, Tristan began muttering. A minute later, Leon heard Samar throw her brother a tart comment, then slam her door shut – probably in his face. Whatever she had said effectively shut him up. He withdrew to his own room, radiating discontent. Eventually, the bad vibes subsided and peace descended on the little suite.  
  
Leon lay motionless, eyes closed and body limply relaxed. His mind wandered, turning back to the events of the past evening. Somehow, he realized, wryly amused, they had managed to get involved in some possibly hair-brained quest to wipe out the Originals. And the key to the quest was that girl. The little blonde who had appeared so harmless before this evening. But now–  
  
Jerrick had said that her abilities had matured but it was more than that. Gone was the terrified girl cowering before Nigel Emery. She wasn't even the incomprehensible human they had ambushed in the forest anymore. She looked like a warrior now. Moved like one too, he realized upon reflection.  
  
He could still see her – dressed only in a cotton nightgown that reached below her knees, golden hair unbound and slightly mussed from sleep, one shoulder padded with bandage.   
  
And blazing like the sun at midday.   
  
Before he had been forced to look away, he had seen her lapis lazuli eyes afire with sheer mindless fury. The force of her emotion had almost been a tangible thing, an invisible hand about to strike. He had half-expected to see her levitate like a vengeful angel.   
  
Thinking about that confrontation made him wonder about Jerrick. The witch had openly admitted to lying to her. He had acted almost disdainful of her tirade. Who was he? And where did he fit into this quest? Leon guessed from Elena's words that Jerrick wanted something from her. And it somehow involved Stefan. Or was Jerrick using Stefan to blackmail Elena?   
  
His ruminations were interrupted by the approach of a presence he had been waiting for. A small smile curved his mouth as he got up and quietly returned to the sitting room. He found Makoe already there, sprawled in an easy chair, legs thrown over one of its arms and head flung back against the other.   
  
Leon slumped onto the couch just as the door opened. Stefan looked better, he noted, studying him without appearing to. Relaxed...content. His stance changed when he caught sight of the two silent waiting vampires. Wordlessly, he shut the door and sat, angling his body so that the three of them formed a triangle.  
  
"I'm surprised that you're not staying with the fair Elena," Makoe said. His head was still tilted back over the chair's padded arm and his eyes were closed.  
  
Leon noted the way Stefan tensed, almost flinching. A ghost of a memory flashed in his eyes. When the Italian did not respond to the jibe, Makoe cracked open one eye. "Well?" he asked.  
  
In answer, Stefan shifted his stern gaze to Leon. "Instead of taking your freedom and leaving, you stayed. You said it was because I am one of you."   
  
"I stated fact," the phlegmatic vampire said. He let a hint of authority creep into his calm tone.   
  
"No," Stefan said tautly. "You laid a claim on me."  
  
"You make it sound like a violation," Makoe said conversationally. "We're not forcing you to do anything; we're just tagging along on your business."  
  
Stefan looked down at his hands, which lay on his thighs, palms up and fingers slightly curled. "A claim is a two-edged sword. If you call me your own, you take a part of me upon yourselves and I am duty-, or honor-bound to reciprocate."  
  
Leon planted one elbow on his knee and cupped his chin in his fist. His eyes were frank, a velvety brown, as they regarded Stefan somberly. "If Jerrick had told us to leave and made Tristan stay, would you have gone?" he asked.  
  
The green eyes he watched widened fractionally, in surprise. Not at the question, but at his automatic reaction to it. The moment of shock passed and Stefan looked thoughtful, then, slowly, wondering. Leon sat back with a satisfied little smile. "That was the acid test, lad. If you wouldn't abandon _Tristan_, who's been nothing but a pain, how can you say you're not one of us?"  
  
He looked about to raise a weak protest, but Leon went on, sounding almost cheerful. "I think that what's got your feathers ruffled is the fact that I sprung it on you without consulting you first." The brown eyes became piercing, almost censorious. "You've got more of the Crow's pride in you than you'd believe – or admit."  
  
Stefan's mouth closed like a trap. He looked dazed, unable to come up with a comeback to that comment – or anything else Leon had said.   
  
::Well, that stopped him,:: Makoe commented in a private send.   
  
::Truth does that, sometimes,:: Leon returned dryly in the same manner.  
  
Aloud, he said, smile growing, "So here we are, all five of us," with a slight emphasis on the number and a wry note in his voice for Samar. "Sounds like exciting times are ahead. Four Old Ones, a house load of hunters and who knows what else. But we'll go through this like we do everything else – together. Eh?"  
  
The green eyes fixed on him seriously, assessing his sincerity. Leon sat back and just smiled, confident of what he would find. At last, the Italian vampire nodded once, firmly. Makoe, head still mostly upside down quirked an eyebrow in agreement and the deal was sealed. Leon felt the wordless surge of welcome – albeit barbed and sardonic – that Makoe sent Stefan.  
  
"Good. _Now_ can we get back to sleep? We'll need to be at our best in the morning, you can just bet."  
  
***  
  
The white hand reached out–  
  
And touched air. Elena woke with a start, eyelids flashing open. ::Stefan!:: She lay still, orienting herself. ::Had it all been a dream?::  
  
But when she tried to get up, the pain in her shoulder and the unwieldy bandage told her otherwise. Groggily, she stumbled into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Fully awake, realization hit her: Stefan was _here_. Here, somewhere in this house full of hunters. And if they found him...  
  
She was standing in the corridor before she knew it, wildly looking about. Her sudden appearance startled Karen, who propelled herself away from the wall with the foot that rested flat against the vertical surface. "Elena–"  
  
"Where is he?" Elena talked over her. The other blonde knew who she was referring to almost immediately.  
  
"He headed to the east wing when he left–" Elena did not wait to hear what else she said; she pelted off in that direction in an awkward run, her shoulder hampering her movements, throwing her slightly off balance. She failed to notice Karen follow her with quick, long strides.  
  
Once in the west wing, the sounds of angry brawling drew her, leaving no doubt as to where the vampires were. She pushed through the eager ranks of hunters, squeezing and squirming. Behind her, Karen began to call, "Make way! Move, you! Let Elena deal with the vampires!" The blond gunwoman knew very well how Elena would 'deal' with them but she injected enough bloodthirsty malice into her tone to convince the slayers to let Elena pass. If Elena had held a grudge over the shoulder, she would have forgiven Karen for that inspired idea.  
  
The hall ended with double doors that were jammed with fighters. As Elena approached, comrades pulled the ones at the front away until all fighting stopped. For a moment, all movement stopped. It was a bizarre scene; Elena in her cotton nightgown and bare feet, standing with heavily armed and already bloodied hunters at her back and battle-tensed vampires before her.   
  
She looked at the other three male vampires, remembering them from the forest. So Jerrick had captured them all. The tall, thin one had fangs bared, clearly eager to resume the fight, but the other two – the brown haired, passive seeming one and the cold dark one – appeared almost relaxed, as if they were in their element. Stefan was tensed and watchful, but calm. The fifth vampire startled Elena.   
  
She was petite, almost hidden by the Tall One and Brown-hair. She looked no older than thirteen, with elfin features that were currently set in something between a ferocious scowl and a gleeful grin. Her hair was as long as Elena's own; black with random streaks of deep pink. She matched Elena, stare for stare.   
  
As the silence dragged on, Elena became aware of the hunters restlessly shifting behind her. Her eyes met Stefan's for a fleeting moment, and then she whirled to face the slayers. The implication of her movement was not lost to them. Two surged forward but were grabbed and held back as more people pushed to the fore. Karen and Taura.  
  
Karen looked as unflappable as always. Taura's eyes went to Stefan, then Elena, then to the other vampires. When she saw the shorter, black-haired vampire, her eyes grow wide then she...bristled. Then Crystal arrived and Elena had no attention to spare for anyone else.  
  
The vampire leader had a pair of slim wooden bamboo blades in one hand and a predatory glint in her green eyes. Her face contorted into a mask of rage at the sight of the vampires. She barely seemed to notice Elena, only looking at her when the blonde stepped deliberately into her line of sight.   
  
"What," the born vampire hunter said in deadly tones, "do you think you're doing?"   
  
"Keeping you away from them," Elena said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms slowly. "Keeping them from harm."  
  
"You?" the redhead sneered. "What makes you think you can hold _me_ back?"  
  
"I'm the one who defeated Nigel Emery," Elena reminded her haughtily.  
  
The sneer transformed into a snarl and the blades parted into her two hands as she crouched into a fighting stance. Suddenly, Eiran and four other Turned appeared beside her. They didn't speak, but their presence and bland expressions clearly said that they would allow none to harm Elena.  
  
"Turncoats," Crystal spat. "You stand with your own kind, don't you?" She looked directly at Elena. "What do you mean by bringing vampires under my roof?" she demanded, not changing her stance.  
  
"Not my doing," Elena told her flatly. "You'll have to take that up with Jerrick, if you want."  
  
Only now did Crystal straighten. "That cursed half-man." Her fury fixed on a different target, denied this prey, Crystal threw Elena and the vampires one last vicious look before turning and pushing her way back through the crowd of hunters jammed in the narrow hallway.   
  
The other hunters exchanged looks, seeing their leader leave instead of attacking the vampires. Elena caught Eiran's eye and silent communication passed in that split second. Eiran and his fellow Turned took up sentry positions in front of the doors and Elena stepped back into the room, grasped the double doors and pulled them close. Just before they shut with a firm thud, Elena glimpsed Karen and Taura join Eiran, taking up similar stances facing their fellow hunters.   
  
Elena bowed her head briefly before turning to face the vampires. The tall one and the girl actually looked unhappy at being deprived of a fight. Elena almost laughed at their expressions. There was kinship there, she thought. It was visible in the hue of their eyes... and in their personalities.   
  
Stepping to her side, Stefan touched a hand to the small of her back and performed quick introductions. "Elena Gilbert, Leon Morris, Samar D'Angelo, Aodhan Makoe and Tristan  
D'Angelo."  
  
Elena nodded to each in automatic acknowledgement, barely registering the names. Silence reigned while they looked at each other in a moment of awkwardness. Elena's head swiveled slowly as looked from one to another. "What are you doing here?" she blurted finally. "Jerrick _can't_ be holding you captive! Not _here_!"  
  
"We're not prisoners," the mild, brown-haired one – Leon – said. The tall, restless vampire muttered, "Anymore," which everyone ignored. "We've joined your quest," Leon went on.  
  
She could feel her face freeze into a shocked expression. "_Why?_" she asked, aghast. "You'd be hunting the very ones who made it possible for you to be who you are!"  
  
A shrug. "It's the ultimate hunt." Leon's tone was careless but Elena heard the suppressed feeling running like an undercurrent through his words.   
  
Elena shook her head. ::This is mad,:: she thought.   
  
"Besides," Leon went on. "Stefan's involved and the hunt stays together."   
  
Elena blinked, only half comprehending. She tilted her head to look at her boyfriend who looked slightly uncomfortable. If one could squirm while staying still, he did it. ::Did he just mean what I think he said?:: she wondered at him. She was pretty sure he could hear her thought but he was saved from replying.  
  
"Speaking of hunting, it's time we did so," Makoe drawled. It was the first time he had spoken and Elena looked at him. A compact, still figure, his gray eyes were cool and his expression emotionless. The four strange vampires exchanged looks, obviously carrying on a swift telepathic conversation. Elena felt Stefan go rigid beside her briefly. At her raised eyebrows, he muttered, "Jerrick."   
  
Jerrick was communicating telepathically with them? She had no time to wonder as the four headed for the closest window. No verbal discussion was needed. Tristan was the first through the window; jumping from a first floor window, Elena knew from experience, was a simple task for a vampire. Samar was next; the vampire girl had a slight scowl on her face as she followed her brother. Makoe disappeared from view, and Leon paused with one hand on the windowsill. He threw a questioning look back at Stefan. The latter shook his head quickly.   
  
Elena wondered aloud suddenly, "Why didn't the hunters try to get in through the windows?"  
  
About to leap, Leon threw back over his shoulder with a carefree smile, "Jerrick put wards on them; humans can't cross the windows. How's that for turnabout?" he said rhetorically and then he was gone.  
  
Alone, Elena faced Stefan. "You're...part of them now?" she asked carefully after a moment.  
  
He smiled wryly. "In a way. People kept in close confines together for over a month either kill each other or become friends. Since none of us got staked, I suppose you could say we're friends of sorts," he answered, tone purposefully light.  
  
"I...I see." As she turned to leave, she couldn't help thinking, ::And if it comes to a choice of me or them–::   
  
She felt arms slip around her from behind. ::There is no contest,:: Stefan finished silently, bending to touch his brow to the crown of her head. She relaxed against him, the subtle fierceness in his words reassuring her more than anything else could. She turned in the circle of his arms and her hands twined around his neck. There was no need for words beyond that.  
  
***  
  
"You've got some explaining to do."  
  
She found him seated at the little picnic table set outside the kitchen. The lawn glowed like an emerald in the morning sun but she did not notice its beauty. He ended his contemplation of the garden to find her in a hipshot stance, arms crossed. Twin blades were grasped in one hand and her face was set in a glower.   
  
The man had the nerve to regard her levelly, as an adult would an unreasonable child throwing a tantrum. If he wanted to play innocent, she was going to cut his game short. "What's the meaning of you bringing vampires into my house?" she demanded bluntly.   
  
To her increased annoyance, he turned away, dismissing her. "Elena's will to continue is wavering. One of the vampires is Stefan Salvatore. His presence will ensure her continued cooperation." His face lifted slightly as he squinted at the shaded wood on the fringe of the grass. "As for the rest, they are necessary for the next step in our undertaking."  
  
"_Those_ are suppose to help us get rid of the Old Ones?" she asked, the pronoun heavy with scorn.  
  
"They have their uses, too," he said casually.  
  
It was so easy, Crystal reflected, to let his nonchalant reason carry her along into acquiescence. She had to pause and remind herself of her resolve. She could not accept vampires into their band, even to kill off all the Old Ones. Only those directly involved in that mission was aware of the endeavor; as far as the rest of her team knew, it was business as usual. When they questioned the presence of the vampires, how was she to answer them?  
  
And, dammit all, even if she was not accountable to the others, she led a group of vampire hunters! To ally with vampires would be to betray everything she stood for, every reason her people trusted her leadership.   
  
"Oh, no, Jerrick," she shook her head. "You wanted the ex-vampires here and I tolerated their yellow-bellies. But this is going too far. I don't care how useful they are: if you want to work with vampires, you'll do so without me and my team."  
  
The blue eyes that met hers were flat and glacial. Crystal had to suppress the urge to take a surprised step back. "Don't overestimate your importance," he said, deceptively mild. "Think very carefully before you force your hand. You may not like the outcome."  
  
She could not believe the sheer gall of the man. When she found her voice again, she asked, deadly soft, "Is that a threat?"  
  
"Call it advice. You're not indispensable, Crystal. If you don't like how the game is played, the rules won't be changed for your sake. And you stand to lose much if you choose not to play."  
  
"You're bluffing," she said, recovering. "Without the fighters, who's going to protect your precious Elena from harm?"  
  
"The vampires would do admirably at that," he pointed out. "The Turned and witches are a capable defensive force as well. That is, assuming we lose the hunters at all," he finished smoothly.   
  
His meaning hit her immediately. "No way. Karen and Taura are _mine_. They're loyalty lies with _me_. If I oppose you, they won't follow you," she said fiercely.  
  
"No, but they just might follow Elena," he said silkily.  
  
The green eyes, more brilliant than the lawn in the morning sun, widened with outrage. "You treacherous bastard!"  
  
"An unfair epithet. Inaccurate, too," he murmured mildly. Then his manner turned clinical, dispassionate. "But we were discussing a moral dilemma. Can you, the leader of a band of vampire slayers, allow vampires to join in your endeavor? Or must you withdraw your support of the task?" He tipped his head courteously, inviting comment. "What's your decision, Ms Baron?"   
  
She stared daggers at him, even as she weighed her options. "Fine. I've had it with you and your silent machinations and double-crossing manipulations anyway. I choose out. Take your vampires and your blasted witches and gutless Turned and get off my property."  
  
She whirled and stormed off but paused long enough to throw back at him, "Anyone of them who's left after nightfall becomes fair game."  
  
She caught hold of a passing servant and rapped out curt orders for her to get her lieutenants to library _now_. Her new orders would be passed down the ranks of hunters and executed: every last witch and Turned are to be ousted within the day. No mercy to laggards.  
  
"You're not indispensable either, Jerrick," she muttered intensely as she strode into the library. A clenched fist connected with the ledge as she stared unseeing out the tall French windows. Her anger sprang from the feeling that she had been played for a fool. She felt as if she had been exploited and was being discarded now that she was no longer useful. If she could think of some way to retaliate, she would. As it was, the best she could do was kick them out and act as if it was beneath her notice. "You and your stupid quest. I'll hunt vampires my own way."   
  
* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really_ makes a difference. Thanks. =) 


	42. Chapter Forty One: Setup

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 5 March 2003  
  
* I'm going to have to revise my estimated update timetable to weekly.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
~ Forty One ~  
  
The Supra pulled up to a rustic looking cabin in the middle of nowhere. The Lotus rolled to a halt alongside. Tristan must be cursing the rough dirt path that led to this location, Samar thought ironically. Oh, the impracticalities of driving a road-hugging sports car. She looked about. The place was ringed with trees, trees and more trees.  
  
"Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, skeptical. Beside her, Makoe nodded to Leon's familiar blue Nissan sitting in the open garage attached to the cabin. Samar rolled her eyes at him and got out of the car.   
  
She'd been forbidden to go near Tristan's car after he pointedly reclaimed the keys from her. Despite having just hunted, none of them were in particular good moods due to the bland mental messages Jerrick had been sending them.  
  
"The nerve of the man, moving all our stuff here," Samar muttered as she stomped into cabin. She threw the light switch and paused, surprised. The interior belied its crude façade; polished wood of the walls and the furniture glowed warmly in the yellow light. The door to the right led to the garage, which proved large enough to hold all three cars and Makoe's assorted toys. The kitchen was partitioned from the living area by sliding doors. After a little experimentation, Samar decided to leave the partition open; the combined rooms formed an airy, open L-shape.   
  
Beyond the sitting area were the individual bedrooms. The vampires identified their rooms by virtue of its contents. As promised, their belongings had been moved to the new dwelling. Samar had to grudgingly admit – to herself only – that she could not find fault with the arrangement of the items. She caught a glimpse of Tristan's room before he shut the door and was amazed at the transformation some good housekeeping had rendered on his disaster area. No doubt, given a little time, he would reinstate it to its previous public health hazard status.  
  
A fifth room was filled with unfamiliar items, presumably Stefan's effects. And Elena's, Samar added, spotting some feminine articles on the dresser. Two bathrooms at the end of the hall. One of which, Samar noted archly, had a second door linking it to Elena and Stefan's room.  
  
"Home sweet home," she said, sarcastic. Gosh, she must have been spending too much time with Makoe; she was beginning to sound like him. Horrible thought. "Now what?" she asked.  
  
::We're suppose to wait for the rest of the cavalcade to arrive,:: Makoe said from within his room. He emerged shortly dressed in rags, a sure sign that he was about to go tinker with his 'baby'.  
  
"So we hang out till then," Leon added. He was in the living area, sorting through a thick wad of mail.   
  
"They're all coming _here_?" Samar asked incredulously.   
  
"No. Just Stefan. And Elena, probably. As I understand it, there are a dozen or so cottages dotted around here," Leon murmured absently. Makoe had disappeared through the front door and Samar heard the buzz of the Supra's engine as Makoe drove it into the garage.   
  
"Right," Samar said and went to find where the mysterious movers had put her hair mascara. After gleefully filling the cabin with her much-missed music, she disappeared into the bathroom with the cosmetic stick. When she emerged an hour later, the dark pink streaks in her black hair were longer and glowed sullenly in the warm yellow light.   
  
Singing along to the music, she threw open the door to the garage to find Makoe industriously waxing his car. He was bereft of grease so Samar didn't think he had gotten to fiddling with his engine yet. Tristan was likewise preoccupied and the Lotus gleamed a pristine white beside the royal blue of the Supra.  
  
"...take a look at my alignment later. Samar must have messed it up with her adolescent handling," Tristan was muttering at the other vampire.   
  
"Oh, sure, blame it on me," she snapped. Huffily, she slammed the door shut. Leon was lazing on the couch, reading some letters. "I'm going to take a walk around," she told him.   
  
"Be careful," he reminded, looking up. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she said as she shut the door behind her.  
  
***  
  
"What?"   
  
"Kick them out?" "But the healers–" "We'll be losing some half-decent fighters. Our fighting force would be sorely reduced."  
  
Crystal flung up a hand to silence the varied and simultaneous objections. "Firstly, this isn't a discussion; it's a briefing. I'm not asking for any opinions. Secondly, don't tell me you're willing to work with vampires – or with people who do." Confronted with this challenge, no one uttered a word. There was a pregnant pause during which the rustle of hair on clothing sounded loud. Crystal let a silence stand pointedly before adding flatly, "If your sympathies lie with them, leave now. There's no place for you here." The harsh pronouncement was met with more silence as she stopped to see if anyone moved. When no one did, she snapped, "Then get out there and pass the word on to your teams."  
  
Her gathered lieutenants rose and departed to carry out their orders. All except two.   
  
"Crystal," Taura said when they were alone. Cat-like green eyes fastened on her and there was a strange guardedness behind them. "What about the Old Ones?"  
  
The graceful deep auburn eyebrows rose. "What _about_ them?"   
  
"Are we abandoning that mission?" the elfin huntress asked.   
  
"Since Jerrick has chosen to fight fire with fire, I don't see how he needs us anymore. And we certainly aren't going to work with vampires." Crystal's gaze grew piercing, fixed as they were on her. "Are we?"  
  
Taura struggled to keep her expression bland. She shot a look at Karen, standing silently beside and slightly behind her. The blonde markswoman looked apathetic, clearly not objecting to their leader's words.   
  
::Well, she's not the one who has an axe to grind!:: Taura looked back at Crystal, pursing her lips unhappily. The redheaded huntress was watching her like a hawk. There was a stillness about her, a waiting that seemed to dare Taura to defy her. It was a tense moment before the petite fighter bowed her head in acquiescence and nodded once.  
  
"Good. Then we are all in agreement. Now, you need to touch base with your people," Crystal said briskly, clearly dismissing them. The mismatched pair of hunters left the room silently and split up, heading for their respective unit locations.   
  
Finding her group, Taura tersely outlined the new orders and left her subordinates to coordinate the individuals. She walked briskly towards the first floor east wing, where many of the Turned and mystics were housed.   
  
***  
  
The sound of running feet was beat urgent tattoos on the carpeted corridor as people rushed about. Turned and witch alike were scrambling to meet the seven-hour eviction edict.   
  
Like the eye of the storm, Jerrick stood in the midst of the turmoil, calmly directing them. There was not as much that needed to be done as there might have been and some began to suspect that the quiet, crippled man was not caught unawares by Crystal's decision.   
  
He turned away from one of the healers as she hurried off to carry out whatever instructions he had given her and looked at Taura as if he had been expecting her. A faint smile invited comment.  
  
"Crystal says we are to pull out all support of the mission," she opened, looking uncomfortable for the first time he had ever seen and her tone was apologetic.  
  
"Taura–"  
  
"I'm _sorry_!" she burst out, not letting him talk, "I feel awful about leaving you and Elena on the lurch like this! Jerrick, you taught us a lot in the year you were with us! And the kills we raked up from the two vampire waves...Not to mention the Old Ones! And now we're throwing you out like so much rubbish?" Her jaw set in an unhappy angle. "I can't veto Crystal openly. My place is here..."  
  
::You put on a good show, little one. I'll play along.::  
  
Jerrick laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. I understand your position and I'm sure Elena doesn't blame you either." He let his hand fall back to his side, then turned to a desk and picked up a pen. "However," he added, jotting something quickly on a small square of paper and offering it to her, "In case you decide to look us up, we'll be at this address for the next two weeks at least."  
  
He met her wide eyes calmly, his expression was as bland as ever. She blinked in surprise, looked down at the white piece of paper, slipped it into her picket then pulled her frazzled wits together and nodded. "I'll...I'll go say bye to Elena," she stammered and beat a slightly hasty retreat.   
  
Jerrick was smiling faintly as he turned his attention to the next matter that required his direction.  
  
***  
  
Elena seemed to be everywhere at once, overseeing the moving of her belongings, lending a hand to the packing, bidding some hunters farewell, calming some distressed person.   
  
Stefan kept pace with her and wondered where she got the energy. In the blur of faces that he encountered that day, one remained constant aside from Elena's; the self-contained young man named Eiran. When they emerged from the vampires' rooms, he had been there with news of the move. From then on, the two of them had flanked Elena as she went about, Stefan on her left, Eiran on her right.   
  
As the day progressed, Stefan got the distinct impression that he was missing something. Why did some of the others seem to defer to her so much? It was late in the afternoon when he became aware of the burning in his veins. He needed to hunt soon, he realized. A month of constant meals had accustomed him to regular feeding. He brushed aside the urge and forced himself to pay attention to what was going on around him. A petite girl was approaching Elena. Stefan thought he recognized her from the night before; the hunter who had ordered him to stop. She reminded him of–  
  
"Bonnie!"  
  
Elena sent him a sidelong look, confused. Now he could see that she was getting tired. "What about her?" she asked, sounding faintly irritable.  
  
"I need to let her know what's happening. When you disappeared, I couldn't sense you and contacted her to see if there was anything she could do," he said briefly.   
  
"You couldn't sense me?" Elena repeated and he heard her add, ::Is that why you took so long to–?:: "That must have been Jerrick's doing," she added acidly.  
  
By now familiar with her dislike for the lame man, Stefan planted a quick kiss on the crown of her head meant to empathize and soothe. "I'll be right back," he said and went to find a telephone. He missed Eiran's impassive eyes following him as he left.  
  
He pulled out the short list of contact numbers he kept in his wallet and dialed. "Good afternoon," he said politely when someone picked up on the other end, "May I speak to Bonnie, please." He was told to hold on and the familiar voice came through the telephone moments later. "Hello?"  
  
"Bonnie, it's Stefan."  
  
"Stefan! Where have you been? It's been a month! Have you found Elena?" she gasped.  
  
"It's a long story. We're in a bit of a rush now, so I won't go into the details. I just called to let you know Elena and I are all right so you wouldn't worry. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier; I was...It's a long story," he said again wryly.   
  
"Okay," she said after a pause. She sounded slightly dazed.   
  
"We'll be in touch. Expect an email soon," he promised and then said goodbye. As he turned, he felt another sharp pang of bloodlust and inhaled sharply. In the next room, Elena was asking someone a question. Through the red haze, he couldn't quite make out what she was saying. A face swam into focus directly in front of him. He blinked and recognized Eiran.  
  
The young man was taking a firm hold of his arm and steering him down a secluded corridor. Stefan found himself being seated on a bench and confronted with an exposed wrist. He looked up uncertainly, resisting the urge to grab the proffered limb and sink his fangs in.   
  
"Drink up," Eiran said curtly.   
  
Stefan slowly shook his head. "I don't drink human blood," he said flatly.  
  
"Fine," the other said equably and gestured at an open window at the end of the hall. "Then go into the woods and hunt. But you're not going near milady Elena until you've fed." Stefan felt like shaking his head to clear it although he knew the gesture wouldn't help. His disoriented mind could not take in the bizarre scenario.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, slightly nonsensical.   
  
"Making sure you don't do anything stupid. I'm not about to let you near her in this state. Either feed or stay away from her." Eiran's tone had hardened to cold steel. "Or would you rather come out of a feeding frenzy and find her limp body in your arms?"   
  
Stefan's green eyes sprang open, terror rendering him momentarily lucid. ::How did he know my greatest fear...?:: "You sound like you know what you're talking about," he said slowly.   
  
"I do. I was in that position once." Stefan stared dumbly. "You're human," he stated. And yet...something was...off.   
  
"I am now. But I used to be a vampire." Eiran undid two buttons of his shirt and pulled it aside to show the scar over his heart. "I got this when Elena staked me."  
  
"Staked you?" Impossibilities flooded Stefan's mind. None of this was making sense. "Yes. She had to nearly kill me before she could change me back. We call it Turning." The material was released and the buttons closed with calm efficiency. "So, yes, I do know what I'm talking about. Later, when you're in a clearer frame of mind, I'll be happy to answer your other questions. For now, go and hunt."  
  
After that, Stefan dimly remembered jumping from the second floor window and running towards the woods. When he came to his senses again, he held the cooling body of a chipmunk in his hands. Gauging his hunger, he doubted it was the only animal he had caught. He started back to the mansion, recalling the conversation with Eiran.   
  
The position of the sun made him estimate that it was early evening. They would have to leave the Baron place soon. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea, and yet...  
  
Elena was waiting for him. "Eiran said you'd gone hunting," she said, slipping into his arms for a brief hug. "We need to go."  
  
He nodded. "We'll need to pick up my car," he added.  
  
"Do you need anything else from the apartment?" she asked as they walked arm in arm towards the waiting van.   
  
"Jerrick's moved everything to the new location," he told her, and was faintly amused at her outraged reaction. She didn't say anything, but the brooding look on her face spoke volumes of her displeasure.   
  
They were dropped off at the apartment and Stefan waved the van on. On the road again, in the familiar leather-covered interior of the Porsche, Stefan let the comfortable, companionable silence reign for several minutes. Choosing his moment, he broached the subject that had been on his mind since he returned from the hunt.   
  
"Eiran says that he used to be a vampire." The effect of that statement was dramatic. The relaxed atmosphere shattered and he felt her entire body tense. "He said you changed him."  
  
"Yes," she murmured but didn't elaborate beyond that. It was probably a good thing Jerrick had planted the directions to the new location in his mind earlier; he would not have known where to go, otherwise. His mind roiled like a restless stream and he gripped the steering wheel tensely. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"  
  
"I might have...later."   
  
"Might? You mean you might have kept it a secret?" His knuckles were turning white, he noticed abstractedly. It took conscious effort for him to ease his hold. "Why would you keep something so important a secret? If there was a possibility that I could become human again–"  
  
"That's why I didn't want to tell you," she broke in. "I knew you would want to–"  
  
"And why wouldn't I?" he demanded, staring at the road with greater intensity than was needed. "Elena, this might solve our dilemma. If I were human, we could have a normal life together. I wouldn't have to count each day with you as precious and dread the day when you must die and I have to go on alone!"  
  
"Stefan, I couldn't risk it!" The desperation in her voice stopped him, captured his attention and stilling his anger. "You don't understand. The gift –Turning vampires – rules _me_. I have no control over it! It's not something I can switch off and on at will. It just _happens_," she said miserably.   
  
"It's drawn to vampire need. Only when a vampire really wants to become human again does it emerge. And that's not all. Once it begins, there's no turning back. If the vampire only _thinks_ he wants to be human again, but deep down, clings to vampirism, if he can't embrace humanity again..." her voice was heavy with tears.  
  
"What?" he demanded.  
  
"He dies." The finality in her tone lent the two words weight. After a moment, she added, "I remember now. Some of them didn't make it." She turned her head to look at him and he knew without looking that her eyes were imploring. "Do you see why I couldn't risk Turning you?"  
  
His jaw clenched as one emotion mixed with another: hope, anger, fear, shock. And against all this, rationality warred. "I see. But I could wish you had given me the choice," he said tightly. She had no answer to that and bowed her head to look at her clasped hands on her lap.   
  
They turned off the street onto a dirt road. Had Leon seen the look on his face, he would have said that Stefan was the image of Damon. Silently, Stefan made himself a vow: If there was a chance that he would be human again – a chance that he and Elena might have a normal life together – he _would_ take it.   
  
They arrived at the designated cabin and Stefan caught sight of Makoe's blue Japanese racing car. The garage was full, but it didn't bother him. If needed, he could no doubt find another garage among the various lodges to put the Porsche in.   
  
Elena looked up, taking in her surroundings with a puzzled frown on her face. "Where are we?" she asked. "And where are the others?"   
  
"They're at another – larger, I understand – house, not far into the woods. This is the lodge Jerrick assigned the vampires." At her skeptical look, he quirked an ironic eyebrow. "He had your things put with mine. He thought you might want some time away from him."   
  
In response, Elena's face grew stony. She reached for the door handle, but he stilled her with a word, "Elena." She turned to him, eyes wide and expression vulnerable. "This conversation – about my being Turned – it's not over yet," he warned quietly. "We'll talk about it some more. Later." Then he got out of the car, locked it when she had shut the door, keyed the lock and walked with her towards the front door.   
  
Full dark was falling around them.  
  
***  
Samar was up in a tree. The vantage point gave her a good view of the proceedings farther away and negated her disadvantages lack of stature as well as providing her with adequate cover to spy without being spotted.  
  
She saw the humans and witches unpacking and carrying various items of luggage and boxes into the building. The way the smaller lodges were scattered about this large, clubhouse-like building made her think of a retreat of some sort, with secluded cottages for rent and a central building for administrative or bed-and-breakfast facilities. She had checked out the other cabins. All were ready to receive occupants, but only the vampires had been allocated one.  
  
::Now why didn't Jerrick just put us all in one building?:: she wondered. ::That place could definitely accommodate all of us. What's he up to now?:: As she watched, she decided to find out.   
  
She waited until the entire cavalcade of cars had been unloaded and parked and everyone was indoors before creeping up to one of the lighted windows. Cautiously, she peered in. It turned out to be a kitchen, filled with bustling bodies. She resisted the urge to grouse impatiently and noticed that many of the humans were leaving, save a handful that was apparently on clean-up duty.   
  
The next window she peeked into held a bunch of witches, reading or talking quietly among themselves. Samar caught the words 'Baron' and 'hunters' once or twice before she moved on. She hit pay dirt in the room she spied on; nearly twenty humans were sitting or perched on various surfaces or standing, all facing Jerrick. The redheaded lame man was ensconced in an overstuffed armchair. On his right was a good-looking man with sun-streaked blond hair and light brown eyes who held himself like a fighter.   
  
Jerrick lifted a hand to indicate the blonde. "You've heard Alvin's account of what happened." He nodded to Alvin, who returned the gesture and left the room. After he had gone, Jerrick addressed the attentive humans. "Some of you have been wondering what will happen now. Some of you have your guesses. The time has come to stop the speculation."  
  
His head turned as he looked at each face. "Without Trent, we have no safe outlet for the Power left by the unmade Old Ones. But if Elena can channel that Power into Turning, then there is hope, and we can proceed," he said firmly.   
  
"You'll leave tomorrow to find unwilling vampires, as you once were. Find them and bring them back here. Alvin and Eiran estimated that fifty vampires were Turned the last time. Each of you must find at least three others for us to have a safe number to channel Power into."  
  
He stood and swept both hands in a grand gesture at the assembled humans. "Turned. It is your time now. Elena needs your help," he intoned.   
  
::Samar.:: Leon's untimely call distracted the silent spy from the unanimous calls of acquiesce from every listener. ::It's late and you were gone for so long. Are you all right?::  
  
::Yes, worrywart,:: she sent back tartly, annoyed. ::I'll be back in a bit. Now hush.:: She tried to concentrate on the happenings inside the room, tried to understand what Jerrick had been talking about. ::They were vampires? But they're human! Jerrick had called them Turned? What?:: thoughts raced madly through her head as she tried to make sense of it all. ::Elena changes vampires back into humans?:: The incredibly possibility roused shock, disbelief and...a kind of terrified hope.  
  
A hand clamped down on her shoulder. She knew from the grip that the person was human, even before she whirled around. She crouched in an attack position, fangs sliding out threateningly. It was the golden boy who had been in the room.   
  
"Now, now, none of that," he murmured. He held out a hand as if to ward off attack, but Samar felt her body go numb and paralyzed. He was a witch, then. She glared at him as he took hold of her. "Don't glare at me. Jerrick wants a word with you," he informed her, picking her up and carrying her around the building to the nearest door.   
  
::How the – hey – did you creep up on me without my hearing you?:: she demanded telepathically.  
  
"Cloaking spell, of course," he replied airily, adding insult to injury. She continued to stare daggers at him while he brought her to Jerrick. He, in turn, nonchalantly ignored her gaze.  
  
They finally arrived at the room she had been peering into. It was empty now; the only occupants were Jerrick and another human. "Ah, Alvin, thank you. You can put her over there," the mild-mannered redhead gestured to a chair opposite him. The witch did as he was told and withdrew, pausing at the door to release her from the spell.  
  
Samar drew breath to give voice to her outrage, her nostrils flaring aggressively.  
  
"How much did you understand of what you heard?" Jerrick smoothly beat her to speaking first. "I know you were out there, so there really isn't any point in denying it."  
  
Samar's hazel eyes narrowed on him. He might seem harmless but she wasn't fooled by his appearance. "You had questions just now. Why not ask them now?" he went on, watching her as Leon might. When she remained stubbornly silent, he gestured to the other man, seated quiet and still to her right.  
  
"This is Eiran. Do you notice anything strange about him?" Jerrick asked.   
  
Unwillingly, she turned her head and studied him. He looked human, and yet, there were hints of a vampire in the way he held himself and in his not-quite-earthly appearance. The longer she stared, the more amazed she became. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"I was a vampire once, made one against my will. I hated every moment of my existence then. One night, I couldn't stand it anymore. I wanted so badly to be human again. And then Elena appeared and she granted my wish. She changed me back," he said. Simple words lent eloquence by the world of feeling they held. "We, who have been changed, are called the Turned."  
  
All her earlier emotions returned with a vengeance; fear, skepticism, disbelief, shock, hope, longing. The contradictory emotions met and clashed. Skepticism won and she looked sharply at Jerrick. "Yeah, right," she spat out. "Nice try, Jerrick, but I'm not falling for your lies. Whatever it is you're trying to get me to do, you can forget it. I'm not falling for your scheme."  
  
"If you don't believe me, all you need to do is ask Elena about it. She has no reason to lie," Jerrick replied calmly.   
  
Samar barely heard him. She shot to her feet and stalked to the door. "Hah!" she said derisively, slamming the door behind her.   
  
Eiran rose as if to follow, but Jerrick waved him back into his seat. "Let her go. It's all right."  
  
The quiet young man looked at the man who had been his leader before Elena's awakening. "What was that all about?" he asked curiously.   
  
"An appeal. Elena vowed to use her gift to help unwilling vampires. To refuse to go along with the plan would make her foresworn," Jerrick said, leaning into the chair, looking satisfied.  
  
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* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really_ makes a difference. Thank you to those who have responded to my appeal. Love ya! =) 


	43. Chapter Forty Two: Wheels in Motion

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 15 March 2003  
  
* I'm not meeting my own targets. Maybe I ought to target to post twice a week and then maybe I will post once a week. =P  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
~ Forty Two ~   
  
The cabin reverberated with the force of the door slamming shut but Samar didn't notice. On the walk back from the main lodge, she had managed to work herself into a near-frenzy of anger and scoffing.  
  
She stormed into the room and was about to continue her march right into her room – passing the living area and leaving all five of its occupants unacknowledged – when she was distracted.   
  
"Welcome back." Makoe's dry, unperturbed greeting unleashed the full force of her temper.   
  
She stopped dead in her tracks. "Just who – what – does he take me for, some gullible child?" she exploded.  
  
Leon asked, "Who?" but she didn't hear, didn't answer. She did an about-face, her eyes passing the faces turned towards her without seeing them. "It was _so_ obviously a setup; the entire scene was staged! He thought he could fool me! Hah! He can think again." She waved her hands to emphasize her words, her facial expressions and tone of voice lending depth to her tirade.  
  
"What is he up to anyway? What did he think I would do? Fall on my knees and beg to be changed?" she said, winding down to a mutter.  
  
"Changed? Changed into what?" Tristan demanded. Samar paid him no more attention than she had Leon. She began pacing agitatedly. "Ask her, he says," she muttered under her breath. "Well, I will!" She stalked to stand in front of the only human in the room.   
  
"Elena," she declared authoritatively, for all that she was addressing her for the first time. The blonde abruptly found herself gazing up the length of a pointed finger and slim arm at the petite female vampire. "You can't change vampires back into humans, can you?"   
  
Instead of the incredulous denial she expected, Samar's question was met with unguarded shock. And a fear that said, more clearly than any words, that Jerrick's claim had been true. The two girls stared at each other and then Samar was stumbling backwards, to collapse in a – thankfully – empty chair. "No...way..." she whispered, still looking at Elena, who was now looking down at her hands clasped on her lap.   
  
Around her, chaos was erupting. Tristan was on his feet, roaring, "_What?_" Leon had sat up, leaning forward intently, also gazing at Elena. Makoe was watching Stefan and there was an open send in a tone as cold as his expression, ::You don't look at all surprised, Salvatore. Have you been holding out on us?::  
  
::I just found out today myself,:: Stefan returned, visibly trying to remain calm. His body, however, was tensed and his stance a trifle protective where he sat beside the subdued-looking Elena.   
  
Samar only registered all this vaguely. Her eyes were fixed on the blonde, but her mind's eye saw something different. Scenes from her previous life; precious, mundane moments, lost forever to a creature of the night. An everyday breakfast with the family in a sunny alcove, smiling faces of friends waving from the car as it pulls away, marathon telephone sessions and joyous jubilation on the first day of summer break, secret dreams about this or that cute guy...  
  
"So Jerrick put her here to change us all into humans while we slept?" Tristan was asking wildly.  
  
"No!" Elena's head came up like a deer's, in one swift, smooth movement. "I only Turn those who want to be human again," she cried. Her vehemence silenced even Tristan. He recovered after a moment to sneer, "Yeah, right. Why should we believe you?"  
  
"Because it's the truth. I _can't_ change you unless you want it wholeheartedly," Elena repeated firmly. "If the vampire rejects the change, he or she will die."  
  
"And if Jerrick simply wanted us dead, we would have been staked long ago," Leon added logically, forestalling further outburst from Tristan. He then added, thoughtfully, "But, to make us human again – what purpose could that serve?"  
  
"Who knows what goes on in that twisted mind? And what's more, who cares?" Tristan raged. "But _she_," and he pointed an accusing finger at Elena, "is _not_ staying here with us." Stefan shifted, interposing himself between Tristan and Elena. But before a full-fledge confrontation could blossom, Samar moved, appearing between them and shoving her brother back into his chair.   
  
"You! Save your stupid paranoia. If it weren't for you, neither of us would be where we are today!"  
  
"What, beautiful, powerful and immortal?" Makoe murmured, watching the siblings with the closest thing he had come to amusement. His mockery was lost in Tristan's outraged rebuttal, "Ex_cuse_ me? Just _how_ am _I_ to blame for this–"  
  
"If it wasn't for your crazy, blood-sucking girlfriend, I would still be human!" she shouted him down, all the force in her small body behind the yell. In the silence that ensued, she went on, raging. "I'd be grown up. I would still have a family I could spend time with. Instead, just because I walked in on the two of you when she bit you, that _girl_ decided to bite me too! I never had any choice in the matter–"  
  
"Oh, cut the 'poor me' speech, Samar," Tristan interrupted her in turn. A sneer curled his lip and he looked unimpressed. "I don't see what you're complaining about, anyway. You're stronger, faster and better looking than you used to be. Your freckles are gone, not to mention your zits; you can beat up just about any guy who annoys you – and that's almost _every_ guy; you'll never get sick and you'll live forever. You see better in the dark, you hear better – I don't see what you're complaining about!" Tristan repeated exasperatedly.   
  
She was silent for such a long time that Tristan, lying still where he had landed in a sprawl, peered up at her carefully. Her head was bent, streaked hair falling to hide her face.   
  
"What am I complaining about?" she asked softly from behind the curtain of hair. She looked up and Tristan found himself the focus of a slightly mad, malevolent gaze. Her words started low, but increased in force and volume with each sentence.   
  
"I'm complaining that I lost my family. I'm complaining that I had to disappear and leave my whole life behind. That I can never see or talk to Mom and Dad again. That I lost all my friends and everything I held dear in one day. I'm complaining that I will never be able to grow up and grow old. That I'll never fall in love, get married and have kids. That I can never go out into the daylight without this stupid _rock_ strapped to me." She pulled the chain from around her neck and threw it at him. "That I can't just have a salad or a burger when I'm hungry. That I can't be _human_."  
  
Stefan and Elena were staring at her, Leon looked concerned and faintly compassionate. Makoe's eyes were hooded, his expression closed and revealing nothing. Tristan looked grim and stubborn, but there was a flicker of ...something in the back of his eyes as he stared up at his sister. She crossed her arms, lips twisting in a bitter line.   
  
"But I guess you can't see that with your head so far up your ass," she spat and then stormed off to her room, shutting the door with a slam that warned against anyone trying to follow her.   
  
***  
  
Eiran walked quietly, lost in thought, only half his attention focused on threading the way to his room. He was exhausted, almost too much so to think coherently. The recent upheavals were the cause, of course. Untenably, the very same events required him to have his wits about him and a clear mind to think out its implications.   
  
Unrest stirred his soul. He knew he would not experience peace until he had sorted out and reconciled his emotions, which currently lay in a tangled web.   
  
Uppermost in his mind was his unease with Jerrick's latest gambit. Eiran knew full well that Jerrick was trying to force Elena into doing his bidding. The witch was a ruthless master of manipulation. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. In spite of that, Eiran followed his direction because Jerrick's pitiless determination would eventually free Elena of her promise. And that was enough for Eiran.  
  
So he would leave tomorrow, with the rest of the Turned to seek vampires who wanted to be human again. Jerrick had instructed that no hint was to be given of the Old Ones' involvement in this. An absent part of Eiran wondered just how the Turned would convince the other vampires of the truth in their claims. Unless those vampires had known the individual Turned while he or she had been a vampire...  
  
He reached his room and paused, one hand on the door, to glance at the vacant room across the hall. Elena was with the vampires instead of here, where he could most readily reach her if the need arose. But... it was no longer his place to answer her needs.  
  
"Give her some time with Stefan," had been Jerrick's placid explanation when Eiran had inquired. "To renew her ties with him and remind her of her resolve." The young Turned now wondered if the witch's latest ploy involving the young female vampire did not have something to do with his choice of living arrangement.   
  
::Elena...:: he thought wistfully.  
  
With a slight twitch of his shoulders, he turned the knob and entered his room. Yes, part of his emotional turmoil had to do with the fact that Stefan was back at her side. Eiran had known better than to expect her to return his feelings, but at least in the past month, he had been close to her, had been her confidant and closest friend. Now, he had to distance himself and part of him rebelled at the notion, wanting instead to stand and challenge the vampire–  
  
::Fool!:: the sensible side of him shouted, every bit as vehement as the mutinous, emotional part of him. ::She loves _him_. Antagonize him? Make her choose between him and you? That would destroy any bonds of friendship and trust you have with her!::  
  
He went to the window. Through the dense wood outside, he fancied he saw a glimmer of light from the vampires' cabin. ::I should be happy for her,:: he told himself weakly. He remembered the scene he had walked into the night before. It was his dream – turned horribly wrong; Elena clasping a dark-haired man to her, joy smoothing her beautiful face into soft lines. Except that the man who held her was not him, but Stefan Salvatore.   
  
And then, while he had stood, too paralyzed with horror and shock to act, Taura and Eiran had arrived and Elena had gotten shot protecting Stefan. Eiran's eyes closed tight as he remembered the incident and self-loathing again flooded him. Not since he had held Grace's limp body in his arms had he felt so wretched.  
  
::You have Stefan to protect you now, lady,:: he told Elena silently, eyes opening again. ::He loves you and he will guard you well. So long as he remembers to hunt regularly,:: he added, remembering the interlude with the vampire. Stefan had looked so utterly taken aback at Eiran's claiming to have been a vampire once. Apparently, Elena had not told him about the Turned. But then, perhaps there hadn't been time. Things had moved so quickly since their reunion.  
  
Shrewdly, instinctively, Eiran could guess what thoughts, what incredible hopes, were going through the vampire's head now. If Grace were still alive, Eiran would have been overjoyed at the chance of becoming human again and living out the rest of his mortal life with her.   
  
Eiran turned away, crossing the room to flick on a bedside light. So many regrets to let go of, so many changes to adjust to.   
  
He supposed, as he stuffed some clothes and necessities into an overnight bag, that this search for vampires was a blessing, in a way. It removed him from the present situation, gave him some time to lay his uneasiness and shattered dreams to rest.  
  
***  
  
The knock on the door was soft, yet not completely hesitant. Samar deliberately ignored the sound and heard the knob turn after a brief wait. She looked up, expecting to see Leon, and went still in surprise and defensiveness.  
  
Elena quietly shut the door behind her and, without waiting for an invitation, approached the bed where the younger girl was sprawled on her stomach. Caught off guard, Samar was torn between lashing out in anger at the intrusion and a desire to gather up the commonplace, precious items spread out around her and hide them.  
  
She scrambled onto her knees. "What do you want?" she demanded, pride forbidding her from frantically shoving the keepsakes out of sight.   
  
The blonde looked at her and Samar had the eerie impression that she wasn't looking at Elena. Or at least, not _just_ Elena but some...thing else as well. "I think the question is, 'what do _you_ want,'" the blonde said with a strange detachment.   
  
"What does that mean?" Samar fired back, unnerved. The steady, cool lapis eyes blinked and suddenly, the sense of _other_ was gone, leaving only a slightly disoriented-looking Elena. "Samar," she said belatedly. A quick glance around seemed to remind her of where she was and what she was doing there. "I felt your...yearning." Cryptic words, but Samar understood them all the same.   
  
After secluding herself in her room, she had pulled out her treasures and lost herself in reminiscence. Homesickness and nostalgia had clogged her throat more than once and thoughts of asking Elena to change her back into a human – what had she called it? _Turn_ her – had danced in her mind.  
  
She looked down at the photo album lying open beside her right foot and realized that she was still clutching the stuffed moose against her. Elena had followed her gaze. "May I sit down?" she asked, looking coolly poised and self-assured. Samar's gaze fell on the sketchbook, which was – thankfully – closed, and nodded once curtly.  
  
The blonde sank onto the bed, curling one leg under her and facing Samar. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you," Elena said quietly. Samar looked up sharply to see a wry smile touch her lips. "Well...maybe a little." Seeing Samar's skeptical look, Elena's smile grew. "Stefan didn't tell you our story?" Samar gave her a 'what story?' look and Elena related how she and the vampire had met. By the time she finished, Samar was reeling in shock. The cool blonde took on whole new dimensions as the information changed her perspective of this 'enemy of Old Ones'. She had been human, vampire, spirit. She _did_ understand.  
  
"So, yeah, I think I can relate a little to your situation. Not completely of course; I didn't spend the last twenty years looking like a fourteen-year-old," Elena finished.   
  
Suddenly, Samar had the most bizarre urge to throw herself into Elena's arms and sob her heart out. Fortunately, she quelled the crazy impulse just short of action and merely nodded. Another spell of quiet followed.   
  
Elena prompted her, "Your desire drew me here. _Do_ you really want to be Turned? Not all vampires who are made without consent want to go back to being human."  
  
Samar felt her lips twist. "I don't know," she all but snapped irritably. "Even if I _did_ become human again, things can't go back to the way they were. How am I going to explain to my parents why I haven't aged a day since I disappeared twenty years ago? Not to mention what I'm going to say about Tristan." She dejectedly thumped a small fist onto her pillow.   
  
Elena nodded, accepting those arguments. She threw the young vampire another question, "Those are the practicalities that need to be considered. But what about you, as a person? Do you hate _being_ a vampire? Do you want to be human, with all its limitations, after being so much...'more'? It sounded a little like that when you were tearing your brother to strips," there was a smile in her voice, "but I don't feel the pull as strongly now."  
  
In answer, Samar threw her hands up in the air, exasperation and confusion in the volatile gesture. Looking faintly impatient, even sardonic, Elena said, "Well, there's no rush yet. Take your time and consider." She made to rise and Samar suddenly remembered what she had seen at the main building.  
  
"Elena, Jerrick's sending out the Turned tomorrow to find vampires. He says it's the only safe way for you to expend the Power left by unmaking the Old Ones. He made it sound like their sacred duty or something to bring vampires back. Even gave them a quota – three vamps a piece," she said in a rush, her tone turning cynical towards the end. Her words had a scary effect; the blonde's expression grew furious and Samar was reminded that this was the girl she had seen shining to rival the sun just the night before.   
  
Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. "Thank you for the information," she said curtly. Samar half-expected her to say something ominous like, "I'll deal with Jerrick," but she simply stood up and turned to the door, leashed rage in her movements. She took a step, then stopped and looked over her shoulder.   
  
"By the way, here," Elena dropped the lapis pendant and chain she had thrown earlier onto the bed. "You'll still need this while you're weighing your options," she said. "Good night."  
  
***  
  
The Turned were assembling. Jerrick stood at the main entrance to lodge, watching impassively as they loaded whatever belongings they had decided they needed into their vehicles. The not-quite human faces were solemn and thoughtful as minds turned to their task.   
  
One by one, they left, with a lift of a hand, a nod, a rallying call. Only a handful remained when Elena arrived.   
  
"Stop this." All activity ceased at her commanding voice. Glad faces turned in her direction, like flowers to the sun. One or two ducked their heads in acknowledgement at the sight of her; some of the Turned still held her in reverence, despite her efforts to dissuade such treatment.   
  
She barely noticed them, her attention fixed on him, a quiet, still figure on the top step. She strode up to him and he was struck by how much she seemed like Crystal now, with her emotions charging her movements until the air fairly crackled with Power. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, challengingly.  
  
"Making preparations for the next strike," he said imperturbably. The vampires had accompanied her. He glanced past her to meet each of their eyes where they stood at the foot of the stairs. Around them, the Turned were like statues. This was the first time they had witnessed a confrontation between their revered savior and their wise leader and they were arrested at the thought of discord between the two. ::She's stopping us? But I thought this was what she wanted us to do..?:: he caught a whisper of wondering. Doubt began to creep into the open faces.  
  
"You are _not_ going to make me Turn vampires against their will just to continue the task," she said flatly. In the quiet of early morning, her voice carried to all the ears of those gathered.  
  
"No, I'm not. The Turned will find vampires who wish to be human again. They are the best agents to do this as they are living proof that vampires can be human again," he replied, with a small sweeping gesture to indicate the few remaining ex-vampires.   
  
"And did you tell them about–" she broke off as someone emerged from the lodge behind him. Eiran barely paused as he nodded a greeting to her, carrying a small duffel bag. "Eiran," she caught his hand as he passed. To Jerrick, the way he stiffened at her touch told an eloquent and poignant tale. "Wait. There's been a change of plans," she added, her words heavy with meaning, her eyes on Jerrick. They snapped to Eiran's face when he spoke clearly.  
  
"No, Elena."  
  
Her grip loosened in surprise and he took the opportunity to walk on. He tossed the duffel into the backseat of the car, shut the door and paused to sweep the other Turned with his self-contained gaze. As if some unspoken signal had passed, they all resumed their activity. Jerrick could still read the uncertainty in their stance, however. That was not good; they needed to be convinced and full of purpose when they went about their mission, not filled with doubts and questions. He snaked out a tendril of Power, and laced a compulsion to hold them in place, letting none leave. Let them linger over _this_ task a little longer, check their engine condition one last time, idle a moment over _there_...  
  
Elena took a dozen rapid steps towards Eiran. "What?" she demanded in a whisper. "Are you siding with Jerrick, against me?" Betrayal colored her tone with jagged spikes of almost-pain. Once again, the lingering Turned froze. The vampires remained a silent and motionless quintet thus far.  
  
Eiran had been about to slide into the driver's seat. At her question, he faced her. Their gazes met and locked. Jerrick suppressed a sigh and a smile simultaneously, feeling the ex-vampire's reaction to Elena's words and her tone. Eiran was resisting the urge to cover the four paces that separated them. His mind clearly pictured how soft her hair would be against his fingers, her body pressed against his, their lips joined–  
  
"Never, milady," he said softly. "This for you, only. We," and he looked quickly at his fellow Turned, "Won't let you put our interest before yours. This is what you need and we will do it with a willing heart." His words settled the alarms jangling in Jerrick's mind. The rest of the Turned relaxed, their doubts allayed, their spirits and resolve renewed. ::Good...Good.::  
  
Elena took another step closer to him, "You don't know what you're doing–" she protested.  
  
"We know," Eiran denied, with a quick shake of his head.  
  
Another step, "No, you don't understand–"  
  
Eiran closed the distance. "Elena," he caught her hand in both of his, a gesture almost faster than the eye could follow. "Trust us. We won't fail you." Jerrick felt his will weakening. "We'll be back soon." He let go of her just as the last thread of control snapped and whirled. "Move out," he said gruffly, his tone uncharacteristically commanding. Jerrick had to suppress another smile.  
  
He released the compulsion, and within seconds, the last of the Turned started their cars and left the remote lodge. Elena watched them till the last disappeared from view and the sound of engines faded. Then she turned back to Jerrick. He took the initiative this time and motioned for her and the vampires to enter the main building. "We need to talk."  
  
He led them into an old-fashioned 'den' decorated like a rustic hunting cabin, complete with trophy heads mounted high in the walls and a fire in the spacious hearth. He gave them just enough time to seat themselves to their liking before opening the conversation, preempting Elena's outburst.   
  
"Samar has already told you I intend for you to channel the Power left by unmaking an Old One through your gift of Turning vampires. I've already assured you that only those who wish to be Turned will be involved. I believe this to be the best solution to all the conditions that bind...us. It holds you true to your oath, it helps many unhappy vampires and it's the safest way to dissipate the Power, now that we've lost Trent." He leaned deeper into his chair, lifting a thin hand to invite Elena to present her objections. He didn't miss Samar's muttered mutinous, "I _knew_ he was trying to manipulate me into doing something. I just _knew_ it," but his attention was fixed on the blonde girl who still had outrage and defiance burning in her blue eyes.  
  
"And will the vampires be told of the risk? That they might not make the change alive, that they might die?" she asked bitterly. He held on to his calm, not letting his impatience and contempt for her tangled ethics and morals show through.   
  
"No," he replied but continued before she could harangue, "Because there is no such risk."  
  
"What are you trying to pull?" she surged out of her chair. "I _told_ you that unless a vampire truly wants to change back into a human and can embrace humanity and its limitation again, they won't survive the Turning." Samar gasped softly from her place in the half-shadows. The tension in the room rose noticeably at Elena's assertion.  
  
"If you will sit down and be still, I will explain how that risk will be eliminated," Jerrick said, hanging to his composure as precariously as Eiran had earlier. Stefan was also sitting forward, nearly quivering with attentiveness. He reached out a hand and drew Elena back into her seat beside him. The blonde resisted briefly before letting herself be placated.   
  
Jerrick paused to be certain all were settled before beginning.   
  
"Elena. You told me that when you try and Turn a vampire, they have to be willing because you need them not only _not_ fight you, but also contributing their energy to the effort. You also said that you don't have enough power to change them on your own. In fact, every time you Turned a vampire, part of your own personal life energy goes into the effort. You used to fall ill each time you changed a vampire." Jerrick saw the way Stefan started, making that connection with the numerous times Elena had 'caught the flu' in their travels. He went on.  
  
"The second step is to make the change stick. At the point near death, the vampire is given a choice between vampirism and humanity. If the vampire cannot accept humanity again, he or she dies with the vampiric part of them. This is the point at which the vampires you Turned in the past failed. Am I correct so far?" he asked, more for endorsement than for correction. Elena jerked her head in a curt nod.  
  
"However," and the one word was imbued with satisfaction. "When you changed the vampires in Antalya, they were neither cooperative nor did they wish to be human. They had all chosen to be vampires of their own free will. But they all made the change because, after you unmade the Old One, _you had enough Power to change them and make the change stick_ – even overriding their will."  
  
Elena's white hands flew to cover her mouth, not quickly enough to muffle her horrified gasp. She buried her face in her hands, suppressing the urge to weep – he could feel the tears tightening her throat. Stefan put an arm around her shoulders but rather than turn her face into his shoulder as she might have once done, she remained stiff and unmoving.   
  
"Elena," Jerrick said, letting his tone gentle. "What's done is done. It's the implications of this that are important. With the risk eliminated, we don't have to worry about killing vampires who haven't the will enough to embrace humanity on their own."  
  
He felt her resolve strengthen at the sound of his voice. ::Yes, good.:: Even hatred had its uses. Her hands fell away from her face and she looked at him piercingly.   
  
"What about the ethics of overriding another being's free will?" she asked, hoarsely. "That phenomena, that _restriction_ was put there _for a reason_; so that the gift could not be abused!"  
  
"Elena, the Turned are here." He uttered each word slowly to emphasize the logic behind it. "They are the ones who could best explain the changes, the pros and cons of being human again. Only the willing ones will be changed – the Turned would allow nothing else, even if I would," he added blandly. The look she shot him almost made him smile. "And if they have trouble adjusting after the change, who better to guide them than the Turned. It is _their_ brotherhood – one that excludes even you." The truth in those words produced a sour look on her face but she kept silent.  
  
No one else seemed to have anything else to say, with each of Elena's objections answered.   
  
"You'll stay away from them," she said finally, bravado in each word. "No mind games and influencing their choice. And I'll see them each individually to make sure they understand what they're getting into," she stipulated. Jerrick inclined his head graciously, knowing that he had won.  
  
"On a purely logistical note," Leon piped up. "Do you mean to herd all these vampires to wherever the next Old One is?"   
  
"A good question," Jerrick nodded approvingly. "And the answer is 'no'. Easier, I think, to bring the Old One to the vampires instead. And there is one who can be conveniently brought," he added meaningfully, looking at Elena and Stefan.   
  
The vampire stared back at him, understanding dawning. He provided the name. "Klaus."   
  
"Who?" Tristan demanded, speaking for the first time.  
  
"An Old One that Elena bound in the spirit realm a year ago," Jerrick explained briefly without taking his eyes off the couple. The silence this time was filled with shocked and slightly grim.   
  
"What about security?" Tristan asked, finally. "I mean, how do you know if some of these vampires are not just plants – spies?"  
  
"What would be their purpose? Who would they want to kill?" Jerrick threw a question back at him without missing a beat.   
  
"Elena," the rash vampire replied instantly.   
  
"Well, they can certainly try," was Jerrick's smooth reply. "They won't succeed."  
  
"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?"   
  
"She can't die." That brought Tristan up short; his mouth shut with a snap before he spoke again. "What do you mean, can't die? She's human," he said scoffing.  
  
"Oh, Tristan, shut up. There's a lot you don't know, bro. Just...hush," Samar said almost absently.   
  
"If you're worried about security, you needn't be," Jerrick addressed Tristan's question, forestalling a sibling spat. "I can contain vampires, if need be," he reassured dryly. As if they needed reminding. All five vampires tensed defensively.  
  
Jerrick hid a smile behind his steepled fingers, then pushed himself out of the chair, indicating that their talk was over. "There's nothing to be done now but wait for the Turned to come back. Once that is done, the Old One can be brought here." He saw Elena's head go up alertly. "I'll consult with the witches, Elena. We'll see if your involvement in the summoning is necessary." Their eyes met in silent communication. She nodded.   
  
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* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really does_ makes a difference. 


	44. Chapter Forty Three: Waiting

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 22 March 2003  
  
* Timeliness! Nuff said. Thank you Juli and Moreta for speedy edits!  
  
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~ Forty Three ~   
  
"Elena."  
  
She looked up when Stefan touched her elbow, as they were about to leave the 'den'. Ahead of them, Jerrick limped briskly – if such was possible – into the room where the witches were gathered, to confer with them on the matter of summoning Klaus from the spirit plane.   
  
She let Stefan draw her aside as the other vampires drifted out. She didn't miss Samar casting a last glance back before leaving. When they were alone, she stepped up to Stefan and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arms closed around her as tightly and she relaxed a little. They stood that way, silently taking comfort from each other's presence for a long minute.  
  
"I don't like this, Stefan," Elena confided at length. Her words were slightly muffled against his sweater. "I don't like Jerrick's plan at all."  
  
"There's nothing obviously wrong with it," he said, sounding a trifle absent, as if he was preoccupied.  
  
Elena sighed irritably. "With Jerrick, that's usually the case. _Nothing_ is _obvious_, but which is why I don't trust him. He doesn't lie outright, he interprets things to his liking and convenience," she said caustically, remembering how he had led her into believing that Stefan had safely escaped the hunter stronghold.   
  
"Hm..." is the vague response she got. She lifted her head to gaze at him. "Something on your mind?" she asked, although she could guess. It was not a subject she was eager to broach.   
  
"Yes...Elena, we need to talk," Stefan said and released his hold on her, steering her towards the seats they had previously occupied, with a hand on the small of her back. Angling his body so that he faced her, he took her hands between his and stared at their sandwiched fingers for a moment before blurting, "I want to be Turned."  
  
Before she could come up with a reply, he went on. "According to Jerrick, with the Power of an Old One, there is no risk behind it," he reasoned.  
  
"According to Jerrick," Elena emphasized sharply. She shook her head vehemently. "No, Stefan. There's got to be a catch somewhere, something he's hiding. I won't Turn you–"  
  
"It's _my_ choice," Stefan retorted forcefully, anger shading his tone. He squeezed her fingers for emphasis.  
  
"Mine, too. I am not going to Turn you," she returned just as stubbornly, pulling free of his grasp. "At least not this time. If all goes well and there are no hidden traps Jerrick set up, you can always join the next batch to be Turned. There are four more Old Ones to be unmade," she pointed out, her tone brooking no objection.   
  
His stony expression remained uncompromising and tightlipped. Her brow knotting with frustration and anguish, Elena leaned forward and laid her hands on either side of his face. "I can't risk it. I can't risk _you_. Can't you see that? If anything happened to you, all this will mean nothing to me," she whispered urgently, eyes pleading with him to understand and accept her decision. Finally, his green eyes closed and he bent his head forward the inch or so it took for their foreheads to touch. He sighed and stood, pulling her to her feet and ushering her out the door. As they passed the threshold, he spoke, "What makes you think you can control who you Turn when the time comes?"   
  
The quiet question made her stop short. Over a surge of panic, she considered the question. "I was unconscious – dying – then. This time, I won't be; I'll be in control," she assured. She kept her face forward so that he wouldn't see her confidence melt away, leaving doubts to shadow her face.   
  
***  
  
_Thwack!_  
  
The blade flew end over end through the air to land with a dull thud on the grassy lawn. "That _hurt_!" Samar snarled up at Makoe, nursing a stinging hand.   
  
It had been a week since the Turned left on their errand and Samar was frankly bored out of her mind. Fighting with Makoe and Stefan – and more often the former than the latter since Stefan sparred with Elena these days – got old really fast and she found her mind wandering restlessly through practice. She paid the price for the lack of attentiveness – like now.  
  
"It was meant to," he replied imperturbably, standing off and obviously waiting for her to make her move. A growl rose in her throat as his impassiveness made her blood boil. Her already-short temper snapped.  
  
She came at him full force, unarmed, and swung her fist at his right hand, which was holding his blade. Even as his weapon carved a similar arch as her own, she kicked him in the head, spinning in place so that momentum added power to the hit. She placed a foot none too gently in the middle of his chest as he lay on the ground and glared down at him.  
  
Makoe grabbed her foot, lifting it slightly to relieve the pressure she was applying to his chest. In response, she ground her boot down harder. "Now you see how anger is useful in a fight – it adds force to your blows," Makoe managed to say calmly, given his disadvantageous position. Samar rolled her eyes at the educational tone he took. Which turned out to be a mistake. The grip on her foot tightened and she found herself somersaulting through the air like her sword had and then landing with spread-eagled on her back, the wind knocked out of her.   
  
She lay there for barely a moment before scrambling back to her feet. Her hand touched a slender branch and her fingers closed around it. It was thin and probably brittle, but it was wood. ::Makoe,:: she heard Leon say censoriously. He was sitting with his back against one of the trees, Stefan's laptop across his thighs. She barely paid him any attention as, jaw set and eyes narrowed, she ran at Aodhan, ready to deal him a permanent scar for that trick.  
  
He sidestepped at the last minute, timing his move perfectly to catch her hand and jerk her up short, wrenching her wrist painfully. He reached out and grabbed her other arm from behind, imprisoning her and twisting the hand holding the stick cruelly so that it prodded her own throat. "Now," he said in her ear, still coolly instructional, "You see how anger can be used against you." He moved her right wrist slightly and the stick scratched her neck, not quite breaking skin. "Remember this, Samar. Your temper must be channeled or you'll lose your wits and possibly your life."  
  
::Makoe!:: Leon chided again, more forcefully. ::That's enough.::  
  
Samar thought she heard a sniff that might – with a bit of imagination – have been a chuckle before Makoe let go of her. When she turned, she found him looking at Leon, probably having a private telepathic conversation. Makoe shrugged, abruptly opening the conversation to her, ::It's a good way to keep her out of mischief.::  
  
She bristled and raised the stick again. Leon shot her a quelling look, but his 'path was directed at Makoe. ::Why don't you teach her to use the high way instead?:: His eyes went up to the canopy of thick branches overhead. ::It seems a good place for it.:: The chocolaty eyes fell back to her. ::And she seems to want to play with fire,:: he added, eyeing the stick in her hand.   
  
"What high way?" she demanded loudly, annoyed at being discussed to as if she wasn't present.  
  
Makoe's cold eyes went from Leon to her and back before he nodded once curtly. ::But only for a while; Tristan wants some help with the Lotus.:: 'Again,' was left unsaid but hung in the air making Samar's scowl deepen. She resisted the urge to protest her innocence about the condition of the car.   
  
Aodhan walked towards the nearest tree and promptly disappeared among the branches. Confused and impatient, Samar crossed her arms and tapped a foot pointedly.   
  
::This is what we call the 'high way',:: Makoe told her and she saw him leaning against a low branch five feet from where he had disappeared. Her eyes went wide as she stared first at him and then up at the leafy roof above. She hadn't even noticed any telltale leaves rustling!   
  
Delighted at this new game, she ran towards him. But he disappeared again before she reached him. Frowning generally up at the tree, she placed her fists against her hips. "You're supposed to _teach_ me?" she reminded with exaggerated patience.   
  
"So I am," he said from directly behind her. She whirled to meet his impassive face. His dark eyes slid past her and he strode up to a random tree then turned to look at her pointedly. Obeying the silent signal, she joined him. "Choose a tree with branches you can easily reach. As you progress, you can move to more challenging trees," he began, placing one hand on the lowest branch and pulling himself up easily. She mimicked his movements, silently glad that he wasn't that much taller than she.  
  
As they climbed, she noticed that he moved soundlessly while her actions tended to thrash the branches and generally cause a ruckus and a rain of leaves. ::The trick is to move smoothly and gradually. Don't put your entire weight on a limb at once; increase it gently. Do the same when you step off a branch, just in reverse,:: he advised. ::But don't worry about that too much. It'll come with practice. Concentrate more on moving _between_ trees for now.::   
  
By then, they were lost among the boughs. Samar, her arms and legs unused to the strain, paused to watch Aodhan move out towards the edge of one branch and transfer his weight onto a limb from another tree. He made it look effortless. Her lack of activity made Samar suddenly aware that she was surrounded by wood. If she fell...  
  
::What are you waiting for?:: Makoe's question drew her out of her frightening train of thought. He was crouched close to the trunk of the next tree. When he saw he had her attention, he indicated the overlapping branches with a jerk of his head. ::The branches won't bear our combined weight.::   
  
With her new sensitivity to the all-prevalent presence of wood around her, Samar hesitated briefly before inching out further onto the branch. The going was awkward since she was caught between walking across the branch upright and crawling along it on her belly. It began to bend under her weight and she stiffened. And Makoe, the buffoon, just sat there and watched. Some teacher.  
  
Meeting his dispassionate eyes, she gritted her teeth and focused on getting across and _not_-thinking about the distance between her current position and the ground. It took his weight; it could bear hers. She grabbed hold of the opposite branch and inched her body as far up it as she could before setting her feet on it as well. Bearing her full weight, it sagged alarmingly and she froze in horror. Then it stopped and swayed a little and she dared to move forward. ::If a branch is dropping under you, the best thing to do is to move away from the edge as quickly as possible,:: Makoe instructed.   
  
::Now you tell me. Thanks a lot,:: she said acidly. As usual, her deprecation had no effect on him. As usual, it infuriated her more. She finally made it to where branch met tree trunk and gingerly sat down, feeling drained after the adrenaline rush of the crossing. Climbing a tree to get a good view was very different from 'taking the high way', she realized now.   
  
Makoe turned, standing up and stepping up to the next branch, making his way around the tree trunk. ::Higher up is safer from pursuit, but more dangerous as the branches are thinner,:: he lectured. He glanced back at her suddenly, catching sight of the face she was making him. She saw his eyelids drop minutely then he continued to climb, doubling the pace. She struggled to keep up but the pace he set was impossible to match. ::What do you think you're _doing_?" she demanded, watching him leap – no, more like fly – from one branch to another. ::I can't do _that_!::   
  
::Just making sure you're kept busy enough to focus on what you're supposed to be learning, rather than being impudent,:: he said, not even bothering to look back to see how she was keeping up. It wasn't long before he disappeared completely from sight.   
  
Leaving her stranded in a sea of deadly wood.   
  
Winded, she carefully eased back against a tree trunk, dangling her feet down on either side of the thick branch. Fuming at Makoe's high-handed tactics, she considered calling for Leon, but discarded the idea out of pride. When her ire had subsided, she set her jaw stubbornly. She would learn how to 'take the high way' and anything else they threw at her. And then, they would never be able to leave her behind again.   
  
She started to climb and crawl again, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence. After a while, it became an automatic action and her mind began to wander. Unsurprisingly, she found herself struggling with the question of her vampirism, something that had been cropping up in her mind all week.   
  
She had always thought that she hated being a vampire but she acknowledged now that it would be difficult going back to being human. It would be like being swathed in gauze, all her senses dulled. Yet, to be human again, and to be able to lead a normal life again...  
  
She had not spoken to Tristan about Turning and honestly did not know how he felt about it. Did he want to stay a vampire? If so, if she became Turned, would they stay together or would they part ways? And the others? That Stefan wanted to be Turned was as obvious as the sun on a summer day, but what about Leon and Makoe? Neither had said anything one way or another. Come to think of it, she had never found out how either of them had become vampires in the first place.   
  
Samar didn't know how long she prowled the wooden paths high above the ground before voices penetrated her musings. By now comfortable in that environment, she easily dropped to a level where she could see the ground. An absent part of her mind noted that a human would likely not be able to do what she was doing. And then all her attention was focused on the scene on the forest floor.   
  
A petite human that had all the earmarks of a vampire hunter was advancing on Makoe, a short bamboo blade in each hand.  
  
Makoe, unarmed, stayed out of reach, countering her step for step but not attacking. Samar knew the vampire could take her out in two minutes. Since he hadn't, she guessed that he was playing with her. Well, if she ruined his fun, it was only just payback for his abandoning her like that, wasn't it? Makoe must have sensed her presence because he sent sternly, ::Samar, don't you dare–!:: She ignored him and moved.  
  
Careful now to be soundless lest a rustle betray her presence, she maneuvered until she was directly above the hunter – and dropped on top of her. ::No!!:: Makoe's mental shout sounded as she hit the petite human feet first, knocking her to the ground. Before the human could recover, Samar bent and snatched one of her knives out of her hand. Then she stepped away, standing between the huntress and Makoe. ::Payback,:: she told him maliciously. Her back was turned, so she didn't see the amazing expression of horror and panic that momentarily transformed his face as she leapt down at the blade-holding huntress.   
  
"Why don't you try someone your own size first?" she asked sweetly to the huntress who was getting to her feet a little unsteadily. ::Why don't you go help Tristan with his _car_?:: she added to Makoe spitefully. ::I'll take care of this.::   
  
It was only after then that she saw the tall, gorgeous blonde coolly pointing a gun at her. ::Oh,... flapjacks.:: She sent frantically to Stefan, Leon and Tristan, ::Hunters! Get here!::  
  
"You lousy trickster, you planned that," the petite one accused Makoe.  
  
"Let's keep credit where it's due, here," Samar retorted dryly, partially playing for time, partially indignant. "He didn't plan anything," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in." She looked from one huntress to another. "Though why he's still standing with odds like this, I haven't a clue." ::Get here – quick!:: she repeated. She received a gamut of telepathy from all three vampires, mostly feelings of urgency and bemusement.  
  
"This isn't a normal hunt," the brown-haired knife-user said flatly. "I have a score to settle with him." She flipped her remaining knife into her right hand and pointed it at Makoe. "From our previous encounter."  
  
"You fought with him before and you're still alive?" Samar said disbelievingly. Well, if this was a grudge match, then the one with the gun would not be shooting anyone unless her colleague got into trouble. Or so Samar hoped. She turned her head to look at Makoe out of the corner of her eye. "How come?"  
  
"I thought she was cute," he said facetiously.   
  
The response was so completely out of character that Samar almost turned her back on the huntress to stare at him outright. And a small part of her jumped curiously at the response. The huntress looked just as nonplussed.  
  
"Get real!" she scoffed. At that, the slayer looked offended. "A human? A _hunter_?" The blonde had lowered her gun, but Samar didn't think it would make a difference if she decided to shoot anyone. However, the disbelieving grin on her face led Samar to think that she was slightly off her guard. ::Wait a minute. Isn't _she_ the one who was with Elena the night Jerrick came and got us?:: she asked Makoe.  
  
::None other.:: "Why else do you think she's alive?" he asked aloud. Was he playing along, buying time, too? Or did he really mean it?  
  
It was a good thing the others arrived then, almost simultaneously from different directions, because Samar couldn't think of a response to his rhetoric question.   
  
It was a good thing that Stefan had brought Elena with him.  
  
"Taura?" she exclaimed. She spotted the blonde. "Karen! What are you doing here?"  
  
"Elena," the mousy brown-haired one returned, her expression lighting up briefly then her face fell. "Nothing much. Just...just..."  
  
"Just wanting to beat the crap out of that one," Karen said dryly, nodding at Makoe, "Since he's the one who broke _both_ her arms _and_ her legs when Nigel Emery attacked the mansion." Her candor earned her a poisonous look from her colleague.   
  
"She's lucky it wasn't her neck," Leon murmured, his tone light for all that it was the honest truth. He had Stefan's laptop shut and tucked under one arm.   
  
"Oh, no, it seems he's going for her heart now," Karen went on, obviously very amused by the situation.   
  
"Beg your pardon?" Leon asked, looking stumped. Karen just continued to grin, and Leon's gaze went questioningly to the silent Makoe.  
  
Now Samar _did_ turn to face him, leaving the others to guard her from the slayers. "Repeat what you said," she demanded. "Go on."  
  
"What about?" he hedged.   
  
"About how she survived an encounter with you," Samar stated flatly, not letting him off the hook.  
  
"I said she's cute," Aodhan repeated, sounding almost pleasant. He instantly became the focus of three other disbelieving stares.   
  
The flustered subject of his comment made a mad, desperate grab for the reins of the situation. "I came to challenge you," she stated, apparently trying to salvage her purpose and change the topic at the same time.  
  
Makoe looked at her measuringly for a long moment. Samar fancied quite a few breaths were held as the seconds ticked by there.   
  
"As the challenged, I believe it is my right to choose the weapons," he said finally. His tone and expression were cool, emotionless; he was the Makoe Samar knew once more.  
  
The huntress looked like she tasted something sour as she nodded.   
  
"Well, whatever you choose, the outcome is rather predictable," Leon observed neutrally. Elena looked worried but said nothing. Tristan was scowling blackly, not liking the situation at all. Or perhaps he was just disgruntled at being pulled away from his 'baby'. Makoe continued to watch the petite slayer and Samar continued to look at him.   
  
"Let's make this interesting. Something where the playing field is level." Taura's lips began to curl derisively. "Cars. A race," Makoe finished. Tristan scowl disappeared as he grinned unpleasantly. Leon shook his head. ::And you want to even the odds:: he said. Apparently, neither vampire thought the hunter stood much chance of winning.  
  
Then again, neither did Samar. Taura, however, quirked an eyebrow. "And the stakes?" she asked haughtily.  
  
"If you win, you'll get your fight with whatever conditions you stipulate."   
  
"And if you win?" she prompted.  
  
"I get a date," Makoe replied offhandedly. Samar's jaw dropped and she felt a funny sinking feeling in her stomach. She stared at Makoe as if he'd grown the proverbial second head.  
  
"A date. Yeah right." Samar jerked her gaze away to see the brown-haired girl's lips curled contemptuously. The expression raised Samar's hackles. "I'll take you out for stake." Taura smirked.  
  
"Please. Puns are the lowest form of humor," Makoe parried easily.  
  
"You would know, I'm sure."  
  
Makoe folded his arms and looked at her impassively. "You wanted to challenge. Do we deal or not?"  
  
The brown-haired girl sniffed a disdainfully. "What have you got?" The vampire proceeded to reel off a paragraph or so of jargon that meant nothing to Samar but the huntress apparently understood it for she nodded at intervals and sometimes a tiny expression of appreciation would light her eyes.   
  
"We're about equal," she agreed grudgingly. "Where and when?" she asked. Samar noted that Makoe did not ask for the specifications of _her_ car. ::Been snooping in her head, have you?:: she asked. The fiend didn't bother to reply.  
  
Makoe named a stretch of road in downtown Seattle. "Tomorrow night, 11:20," he added. Traffic would be thin at that time, but the road would not be completely empty. Taura nodded firmly once and Samar watched their eyes meet and lock. "See you then." The slayer broke the stare down and her attention fastened on Samar. She cleared her throat pointedly and held out a hand, silently demanding her blade back. Samar tossed it to her and was annoyed when it was caught neatly before the short huntress turned to Elena.   
  
"You owe me a story," she reminded. Elena looked bemused, but a small smile of pleasure played around the corners of her mouth at the short girl's words. Samar guessed that she was happy to see these two hunters. The blonde pushed away from the tree she had been leaning against with one foot and they both approached Elena. "How's the shoulder?" Samar heard the taller slayer ask as the trio walked away, leaving the vampires staring after them.   
  
Samar eyed Makoe, who was watching the 'challenger' walk away. She strode up to him and shoved him, face set in a belligerent expression. "You jerk!" Well, at least he wasn't staring after that girl anymore. His dispassionate eyes fastened on her, his waiting stillness prodding her into explaining the outburst.   
  
"Oh you...you..." She threw her hands up in the air and stormed off towards their cabin.   
  
"What was _that_ about?" Leon asked.  
  
"What makes you think I know?" Makoe countered.   
  
"With Samar, there doesn't always have to _be_ a reason," Tristan said acidly.   
  
"I thought female vampires didn't get PMS anymore," Leon murmured, careful to keep his voice low. If Samar heard that comment, he would pay very dearly. He watched her go and if there was a note of worry in his voice, it was almost too faint to detect. "She's growing up," he said to no one in particular.  
  
"Samar? Come on, she still looks thirteen or something!" Tristan scoffed.  
  
"How old was she when she was changed?" Stefan asked curiously.   
  
"She was – is – eighteen," her brother said shortly. "Been eighteen for the past twenty years." Stefan looked poleaxed. Leon, catching that look, nearly smiled. "Eighteen's pretty grown up, I'd say," he commented casually. "More than ready to start dating."  
  
Tristan snorted. "She's still a kid. And besides, who's going to date _her_. It would be like begging to be torn to tiny shreds slowly."  
  
"Who indeed?" Leon asked rhetorically.   
  
Tristan seemed to dismiss the episode, missing the looks Makoe and Stefan gave Leon. "Can I join in the fun tomorrow night?" he asked Makoe, a glint of anticipation in his manic, hazel eyes.  
  
Black eyes flicked at him briefly. "It's a grudge match. It'll be strictly between the two of us, I should think." One side of Tristan's face curled nastily but Makoe ignored the expression of displeasure, walking off in the direction Samar had taken. "If you still want me to take a look at your brake pads, come on," he said with a slight turn of his head.   
  
***  
  
"I almost wish you hadn't told me all that," Taura said, a trifle rueful as she picked up her glass of juice. "Makes me almost feel sympathetic towards the leech."  
  
The three of them were seated at one of the handful of tables set near the kitchen of the main building. Elena mock-frowned at the use of the derogatory name, only half in jest. She had just finished telling the hunters about Stefan's past. "How on earth did you manage to get in?" she asked, changing the subject. "I would have thought the entire place was warded."  
  
"Jerrick gave me the address before you left Crystal's," Taura told her, taking a sip of her drink. "I guess maybe he thought some of the hunters would come over to your side when Crystal pushed them too far," she added, then eyed Elena when her face closed at this bit of information. "Still got some trouble between you, huh?"  
  
"Hm?" Elena asked vaguely.   
  
"After Antalya, it was pretty obvious that everything wasn't peachy," Taura all but snorted. On the armchair beside her, Karen shifted, drawing Elena's eye. The markswoman was still smiling faintly. Taura followed Elena's gaze and glowered at Karen's expression. "Quit it!" she snapped.   
  
Karen only chuckled. "A vampire _not_ killing you because he thinks you're cute – and then asking you out on a date when you try and beat him up. That's got to be a first."  
  
"I said cut it out. Drop it. Which part of that don't you understand?" the petite huntress railed at her taller friend. "He's not getting any date. I'm going to win that race," she set down her glass and pulled out one of her bamboo blades. "And then I'm going to tie him to a stake and roast him over a low flame," she vowed slamming the hilt of the dagger on the table to emphasize her resolve.   
  
Karen snickered causing Elena to smile waywardly. Her smile grew into a grin, and then a chuckle. The two blondes shared a laugh while Taura glared at them, motionless in her dignity, until the sound of a car pulling up front encroached on their hearing.   
  
Elena rose quickly, and the two hunters trailed her from the airy country-type kitchen to the front porch. They flanked her, hands instinctively going to weapons at the sight of strange vampires. Attuned to their movements, Elena raised her hand in a gesture to wait.   
  
From the driver's seat, Eiran emerged, smiling a little. As they stood there, the sound of another car approaching could be heard.   
  
The Turned were back.  
  
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* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really does_ makes a difference. 


	45. Chapter Forty Four:Thrills, Chills & ?

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 31 March 2003  
  
* Nearly made it! Just an itty bitty bit late! Thanks Juli and Moreta for more speedy edits! Whoo, we're on a roll!  
  
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~ Forty Four ~  
  
Eiran shut his door and let his duffel fall from his fingers.   
  
He had brought back five vampires with him; it felt like he had spent the past week herding a dozen cats instead. The mood of the vampires had been dangerously volatile, swinging between suspicion to joyful hope to depressed disbelief and back. And in a group, the mood of one tended to have a domino effect on the others. Keeping them together and hunting for others simultaneously had been taxing.  
  
He was tired.  
  
Next time, he promised himself, it will be easier. There will be more of us; we can work in pairs or groups and we won't have to bring back so many each.   
  
A frown marred his brow as his thoughts led to his brethren: not all of the original questers were back. No one had said anything but significant looks had been exchanged. May-Ling was among those still missing.  
  
::Rest now,:: Jerrick's voice came into his head unbidden. ::You've done your part. Leave the rest to us and just rest now.::   
  
Eiran acknowledge the practicality of the advice even as part of him twisted cynically. He doubted it was kindness that prompted Jerrick's intervention. More like practicality. One must care for one's tools to ensure its continued utility, after all.  
  
He unpacked the bare necessities, leaving the rest for after he had gotten a solid, peaceful night's sleep. His mind drifted as he went through the automatic motions.   
  
The vampires were being housed in a cluster of cottages that the witches had warded. The wards were as much to keep hunters out as to keep the vampires in, but it had taken some effort to convince the vampires of that. They had finally resorted to letting the vampires take the evidence from their minds.  
  
There were over fifty vampires already there, with more Turned trickling in with their 'recruits'. It was estimated that even if some of the Turned did not return, they would meet their required numbers. Jerrick had mentioned they would wait two more days before carrying out the unmaking and the subsequent Turning.   
  
Eiran fell into bed and his thoughts turned to Elena. Immersing himself in the hunt for unhappy vampires had taken his mind off his wistful longings effectively enough but he didn't know how he felt, now that he was back. He had only exchanged a brief word with her, Taura and Karen when he arrived, quickly busying himself with the arrangements for the vampires and catching up with the rest of the Turned as they pulled in.  
  
She seemed well enough; not at all strained or unhappy, he noted in an oddly clinical relief. His mind insisted on knowing what he would do now and he had no answer for it. Tomorrow – when he was in a calmer mental state and more capable of thinking and reasoning – think about it then, he counseled himself, slipping off to sleep.  
  
***  
  
"You," Tristan said severely. "Are not setting a finger or toe on or in my car."  
  
Apparently, Big Brother was not done banning her from his beloved set of wheels. Which was how she wound up driving into the city with Makoe that evening to meet Taura for the race. From time to time, Tristan would whiz by, Leon in the passenger seat. Sometimes, Stefan passed them, Elena beside him. Effortlessly, almost casually, Makoe would retake the lead, and the process would begin anew. This idle overtaking went on all the way into downtown Seattle.  
  
Samar sat, silent and somewhat sullen about coming along for this confrontation with the upstart huntress. She hadn't wanted to come but there was no way she was going to stay in the cabin alone while all the others went with Makoe. Besides, they were supposed to hunt after the race. Where Stefan was going to stash Elena while the vampires took care of their dietary needs, Samar had no idea.  
  
By now, they were cruising through streets lined with people out for a night of relaxation. Up ahead, she saw Stefan pull into a parking spot. Half a block ahead lay the quarter-mile stretch where the race was to take place. Tristan bullied his way into a parking space with a combination of recklessness and intimidation. Samar grasped the door handle, expecting Makoe to pull over and drop her off with the others.   
  
He didn't.  
  
She turned to shoot him a 'what are you doing, stupid?' look as he cruised past the other two cars. He met her eyes briefly, looking cool, relaxed, utterly emotionless. The moment passed and he looked back at the road. He pulled up beside a fiery red Honda _Prelude_ and turned to look at the driver. A bare instant later, the Honda revved its engine aggressively. Makoe faced forward again and sent the Supra gliding smoothly, gently ahead.   
  
With a brawling roar, the red sports car streaked past Samar. She felt the car pick up speed, the higher whine of the Supra's high performance engine almost subliminal against the basso growl of the Prelude. The two cars paused at the intersection side by side and Samar was struck by how different they were. The Prelude was not quite as road-hugging as the Lotus, but its sleek lines were more generous than the compact, maneuverable Supra.   
  
And then it hit her that Makoe was not letting her off – he was taking her on this hare-brained race with him!   
  
"Are you _nuts_?!" she hissed just as the traffic lights changed. With a squeal of tires, the race was on.   
  
"You lunatic!" she shrieked. The scream of the engine penetrated the soundproofing partially and the high-pitched buzzing of machinery pushed to its limits grated on her nerves. He wove a path between slower moving cars, leaving irritable blaring of horns and angry hand-waving drivers in his wake. A glimpse of red to one side told her that Taura was keeping up with him. "You're going to get me _killed_!" she added as he cut across one lane of traffic blindly and then slid across another two to avoid a fast oncoming car that had not been in view from their original position. Panic shot adrenaline through her like a douse of cold water. Her hair stood on end.   
  
::Have you so little faith in me?:: Makoe mocked, his cool tone like a damping field on her hysteria. He executed another hair-raising maneuver, eyes darting from road, to rear-view mirror, to side view mirrors and then to the red streak that was the Prelude. He pulled ahead and deliberately kept in Taura's way until she jerked the car into an opening in the traffic and changed lanes, eluding him.  
  
::You dunderhead! You could at least have warned me!:: Samar continued. They missed an apple-green Volkswagen Golf pulling out of a parking spot by a mere hair. Makoe swerved to the right and then back into his original lane to pass a crawling road-hog without batting an eyelash.  
  
::I need your additional weigh to balance my lighter car against hers.:: She opened her mouth indignantly. ::Samar, hush. You're distracting me,:: he said casually. That shut her up. Far be it from her to distract the mad-hatter driver on a suicidal race. As far as she could tell, they were neck to neck, Toyota vs. Honda. Every time the gleaming red car pulled ahead, Samar bit her lip unconsciously. ::If she wins, Makoe's toast!::  
  
Samar had heard that such races usually lasted four seconds, the standard time it took for a performance car to cover a quarter mile. Given the traffic interference, this race might have taken perhaps nearly twice as long. However, Samar felt like she spent an eternity in those seconds. Her heart had clawed its way up her throat and now lay lodged halfway to her mouth; her fingers clenched on the leather upholstery in a death grip.   
  
And then suddenly, the traffic lights marking the end of the stretch were glaring amber eyes in front of them. Makoe never hesitated. The Supra slid past the intersection just as the light changed, leaving the Prelude – and its no doubt infuriated driver – behind.   
  
Makoe brought the car back down to his usual smooth handling and within the speed limit. Samar tried to slow her thready breath as he turned off at the next junction, circling around the block to the starting point. Her heart, having found its way back to its proper location, was still pumping rapidly with the adrenaline coursing in her blood. Her entire body tingled more than it ever had after feeding.  
  
Before she realized it, they were pulling up to where Tristan and the others were waiting, with Karen. The blond slayer looked stunning in a black sleeveless, form-fitting pantsuit. Leon detached himself from the group and walked up to the Supra as Makoe lowered the window.   
  
"Are you okay?" the mild-mannered vampire asked Samar first.  
  
"She's fine," Makoe replied smoothly. "We're going hunting," he added as Tristan started forward, an expression as black as a thundercloud on his face. "Tell the little huntress she'll be hearing from me soon. We'll see you back at the cabin." Without waiting for an answer, before Samar could gather herself enough to say anything, Makoe hit the gas pedal and Leon's worried face and Tristan's black looks were left behind.   
  
***  
  
There was the faintest squeal of tires as the Supra zipped off. Stefan looked up with a faint frown. ::Is everything all right? I thought we were going hunting,:: he said, meeting Leon's eyes. The usually mild-mannered vampire looked troubled. He shook his head but before he could answer more fully, Taura arrived, mad enough to spit nails.   
  
"Where is he?" she demanded, getting out of her car and taking a wide stance. The signs along the street splashed patches of color on her white spaghetti-strap top. High-heeled boots and black pants that fit like a second skin made her look less petite tonight.   
  
Stefan quirked a questioning look at Leon, the only one who had been close enough to have a word with the victorious vampire, and found him with his face turned to the petite huntress. For a moment, there was an odd expression on his face but it was gone so quickly Stefan wondered if he had imagined it.  
  
"He had something to attend to. He said that he'll be in touch," Leon said smoothly.   
  
"If that blood-sucker thinks I'm really going on a _date_ with him–" she began, ignoring the curious looks from the passers-by.   
  
"A deal's a deal," Tristan cut in, his belligerent tone daring her to renege on the agreement. He was in a bad mood and spoiling for a fight. Taura's chin tilted at an aggressive angle.   
  
"Do you dispute the win?" Leon intervened quietly before a full-fledged confrontation could bloom.  
  
The slayer snorted as Karen stepped away from Elena and came to her side. She eyed Leon measuringly. "You said he'll contact me?" she asked, seeming to calm down a little.   
  
"That's what he told me," Leon confirmed blandly. ::Yes, Stefan, we're still going hunting. Makoe just went on ahead,:: he added silently, answering Stefan's earlier question. The Italian vampire nodded imperceptibly in return.  
  
"I'll take it up with him then," Taura was saying. Karen walked around the car and pauses before getting in on the passenger side. "Elena, we're going to Perlin's. Do you want to come along?" she asked the other blonde.   
  
::Go ahead. I'll come and look for you later,:: Stefan told her mentally before she could reply. On the brink of declining, she shot him a startled look, which turned into realization. She nodded in understanding and then looked back at the hunters. "Sure," she returned.  
  
Stefan squeezed her hand briefly in farewell and then watched both blond women get into Taura's eye-catching car. The driver herself stayed where she was, eyeing the three remaining vampires. "Where's the young hellion?" she asked. "Did I see her in the car with them during the race?"  
  
Leon nodded. Taura's expression soured further. "Fine. Jerrick would know how to get in touch with me," she said. Taura's blue eyes fell on the still-glowering Tristan and narrowed slightly. She momentarily looked about to goad the vampire into a fight, then with a sniff, she got into the Prelude and sped off.   
  
"Well," Leon murmured into the silence that remained. "Let's go. Makoe said he'd see us back at the cabin." Stefan noticed that Tristan's outrage at Makoe taking Samar into the race did not improve with that tidbit. His poor humor showed in his handling of the car, as they drove to their hunting ground; Stefan to a park near the waterfront and the other two to the waterfront itself.  
  
A little later, as he was returning to his car, Leon said, ::Where's this club?::  
  
::On Banks and 16th. Why?:: he said, sliding in behind the wheel.  
  
::We'll see you there,:: was the surprising reply. His astonishment must have shown because Leon added, ::You didn't expect us to let you go near a pack of hunters alone, did you?::  
  
::Are you afraid for my safety or that you'll miss out on some fun?:: Stefan asked, matching his dry, bland tone.  
  
In answer, he received a mental equivalent of a chuckle as he started the Porsche and drove out of the parking lot. ::I'm not even sure I'll be going inside. I might just pick Elena up.::  
  
::Let's stay a while, unless things become really unpleasant,:: Leon said seriously. ::I've tried looking for Samar and Makoe, but can't reach them. They're still out hunting and we don't want to give Tristan time to work himself into a frenzy if they aren't there by the time we get back to the cabin.::  
  
::Ah...:: Stefan nodded in agreement, turning down Banks Street. He hesitated, not wanting to show that Leon's carefully hidden worry was noticeable. ::Samar can take care of herself. And she's with Makoe; she'll be fine.::  
  
::Try telling Tristan that,:: Leon said wryly. A very neat parry. Stefan left it at that and his attention turned to getting to Elena.   
  
***  
  
They had been driving in silence since leaving the rest behind. The Supra now prowled the quieter edges of the city like a hunting cat. It had taken Samar a while to regain her composure and by then, she had been oddly reluctant to break the heavy quiet that hung in the car.   
  
Her blood was still singing. She somehow sensed that she was feeling what Makoe must be feeling, the euphoric afterglow of the adrenaline rush that had been the race. Yeah, she'd been scared witless then, but the aftermath was not unpleasant.  
  
Was this why he raced? She tried to imagine being the one behind the wheel, feeling the power of the machine respond to her every touch…  
  
It slowly sunk in that he had won; he would get his 'date' with the huntress. The realization dissipated her elation somewhat.   
  
Makoe slid the car into a spot and turned off the engine. Samar got out wordlessly, her face feeling like a stiff, sober mask. She looked around the ill-lit, run-down district, automatically sizing up the hunting ground with eyes, ears and mind.   
  
Aodhan moved silently but she was sensitized to his every action; slight changes in air pressure told her when he came around the car and began walking towards the buildings. He paused on the brink of disappearing into the shadows to look back at her, his expression enigmatic. Something in his manner made her follow him instead of striking off on her own as she usually would.  
  
In darkness that was half-light to vampiric sight, she felt a mental touch that was unlike telepathy. In wordless communion, they hunted as one, knowing each other's intent and movements, sharing their kills. It was unlike anything Samar had ever experienced before and she felt it like a heady draught.   
  
She felt his pleasure in the feeding, echoing and intensifying her own as they both fed from the same person, she at the man's neck, he at the wrist.   
  
Makoe did not break their mental bond when they returned to the car, nor while he drove back to the cabin. Still peculiarly joined, they headed into the woods without hesitation, both feeling the same restlessness. It was a clear night and the moon shone clearly through the leafy boughs, outlining their world in silver.   
  
If Samar had not mastered tree-climbing yesterday, their shared awareness would have imparted the knowledge and expertise to her now. As they traversed the multi-leveled 'lanes' of branches, occasionally making flying leaps like squirrels from one branch to the next, daring fate in their antics among the deadly wooden boughs, their consciousness gradually separated.   
  
For Samar, it was like emerging from a delicious dream, coming back into herself. She and Makoe slowly took on their own entities again, although their taunting chases continued. After an indeterminable time, they rested against the same tree trunk, quiet and content.   
  
It was perhaps the first time she had ever felt comfortable, silent companionship with the usually cold vampire. He was so unapproachable. Maybe that was why she hammered him with her temper so much of the time; that shell of detachedness made her want to provoke a reaction out of him.  
  
Samar decided to learn how to race. It was absolutely crazy fun and a reason for her to spend time with Makoe. Now that's a weird thought. Where did that come from? She brushed it aside, clinging to the comfort of the moment.   
  
Her mind wandered down familiar trains of thought. "Makoe?" she asked. "Have you thought about whether or not you want to be Turned?"  
  
When he didn't answer right away, she shifted to look at him. His face was shadowed as he turned to face her in reaction. "Hm?" he said vaguely.  
  
"Turned," she repeated. "Have you thought about whether you want to be human again?"  
  
"Why do you ask?" he returned, changing his position so that they faced each other.   
  
"Well, it's an obvious question," she said, beginning to get annoyed at his obtuseness. "I mean, with us hanging around Elena and all that. Haven't you ever thought about it? Ever wished you were human again instead of being a vampire?"  
  
He leaned over her, a shadowed figure now backlit by what little light filtered through leaves. "No," he said shortly.   
  
"No? No, you haven't thought about it or no, you don't want to be human?" she looked up at him anyway, trying to make out his expression or decipher his tone. The latter was difficult; as far as she could tell, he was back to being emotionless, imperturbable Aodhan Makoe. "Did you become a vampire willingly?"  
  
Aodhan sighed a little, startling her. When was the last time she had heard him sigh? When had she ever? "Must we talk about this, Samar?"  
  
"But I want to know," she protested. "I don't think I ever knew how you became–" she broke off as he leaned down over her. "What–?"  
  
She thought he smiled a little. "Have you had your first kiss?" Her heart skipped a beat. A double-edged question, if ever there was one. How to answer it?  
  
"Why do you ask?" she hedged, a trifle nervously. He was getting very close, too close for comfort. Her treacherous heart was doing flip-flops.   
  
"Because if you haven't, you might want to say so now." She swore that he actually sounded amused!   
  
"Why?" she asked, hardly able to believe her ears.  
  
"Because you're not going to be able to say so after this."  
  
Her eyes went very wide. Was he saying what she _thought_ he was saying? His hand shifted and she felt his fingers in her hair, against her neck. The gesture left her little doubt but…this was too weird. What the heck was Makoe doing? Okay, she knew what he was doing, but – _huh_?  
  
::Well, don't say I didn't give you a chance,:: his voice caressed her mind as his head lowered with agonizing slowness, giving her ample time to panic. Then she felt his lips touch hers. A moment of shock and fear, and then–  
  
This was wonderful...  
  
His kiss was nothing like his outward self. It wasn't cold, it was searing; it wasn't impersonal, she felt as if it reached out and touched the very core of her. Her hands crept around him, shy and tentative at first, then tighter and bolder. His arms gathered her to himself, pressing her entire body against his. His lips caressed hers, lightly brushing, then locked fast and hard. Her fingers explored his shoulders, his back, the tight, strong column of his neck, his silky dark locks, so soft...   
  
Samar abruptly came back to herself. She was hanging on to Aodhan Makoe! They were in a _tree_! One wrong move...  
  
Still in scandalously close proximity to her, he must have felt her stiffen and freeze. He... he actually chuckled! The low, rich sound made her feel ridiculously happy.   
  
::Well, I haven't done this before myself, but I don't think we're in danger of falling to our deaths,:: he reassured, one hand stroking down her back. But the mood was broken and Samar was too self-conscious to relax again.   
  
She drew back and he responded in kind. His face was still shadowed, and she couldn't read his expression despite her searching look. What did this mean? Was he saying he _liked_ her? And why the _heck_ was she feeling more ecstatic than she had ever felt in her life? She was _not_ infatuated with Aodhan Makoe. No way. But then, how did she explain the way her heart was singing?  
  
What about that huntress?   
  
That brought her up short. He had said the slayer was 'cute'; then why had he kissed her instead? And if he liked Samar, why was he going on a date with the human?  
  
These questions and more ran through her head but when she started to blurt them out, he shook his head. "Let's not...just now," he said and the warmth in his tone made her melt inside. She nodded agreeably. They climbed down and walked in silence back to the cabin. All the way, she bit her lip against the questions that continued to plague her. The more time passed, the perturbed she became.  
  
Lights were blazing in the cabin windows. Everyone was back, Samar noted. She wondered if they had been here when she and Makoe first arrived; she hadn't noticed then.  
  
She found Leon and Tristan in the living room. Both looked up alertly when she and Makoe appeared. One look at Tristan's expression as he shot to his feet was enough. She was in no mood to deal with raging paranoia and explosive temper. She swept both vampires with a look that felt like one Makoe would use and disappeared into her room.  
  
***  
  
Brown eyes and hazel tracked Samar across the room and lingered at the point where she disappeared until the sound of a door slamming shut shook the cabin. Then both pairs of eyes snapped back to the motionless vampire leaning against the threshold just inside the door.  
  
::What the hell did you think you were doing?:: Tristan demanded, his telepathy piercing like a knife, strengthened by anger and recent feeding.  
  
Somehow, Makoe thought 'taking Samar for a ride' might be misunderstood in this context. Instead, he raised his eyebrows slightly as if to ask 'isn't it obvious?'  
  
::Damn, Makoe, she could have been killed in your crazy grudge race. Why the hell did you take her along?:: Tristan's mouth twisted unpleasantly as he advanced on the shorter vampire.   
  
::She wants in on the action–:: He shrugged carelessly. ::She learns to hack it.:: Tristan started to retort but Makoe went on icy and implacable, ::You can't keep her sheltered forever. She's growing up, D'Angelo.::  
  
Something in the way he said that last sentence made the other vampire stop and stare. Over Tristan's shoulder, Makoe saw Stefan emerge from his room and walk slowly down the corridor. Leon had a slightly disbelieving look on his face as he sensed the same thing Tristan did.  
  
::Are you trying to tell me,:: Tristan said, slow and incredulous. Not for long. ::That you're making a pass at my sister?:: As if gaining momentum, the last part of the question hit Makoe with the force of a battering ram – by Tristan's standards, anyway. Makoe appeared unfazed.   
  
::What if I said yes?:: he asked calmly, crossing his arms.  
  
::You sorry, cradle-robbing bastard!::  
  
::It would hardly be cradle-robbing, Tristan. She's eighteen, after all.::   
  
The outraged vampire didn't seem to hear the cool reply. He stepped up to Makoe and swung a fist at him. The shorter vampire uncoiled from his relaxed position, deftly caught the flying fist and twisted. Tristan was spun around as Aodhan jerked his wrist up at an angle tight against his back. The snarl on the taller vampire's face was as much out of pain as of fury now.  
  
::D'Angelo, don't be an idiot. You know she'll do what she wants. So will I. Why earn yourself a broken wrist over something you can't do anything about?:: Makoe asked reasonably.  
  
Tristan flashed his elongated fangs but didn't reply. Makoe held the position for a long moment to make his point and then released him with a slight shove to send him stumbling forward. Tristan glared at him, turning his body ninety degrees and his head another ninety degrees. Makoe fell back into his earlier position of holding up the wall, arms crossed and expression cold. ::If you mess with her...:: he trailed off meaningfully.  
  
Makoe resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ::I'll be sorry. Yes, I know.::  
  
Scowling, Tristan went to his room. Moments later, the sound of the electric guitar could be heard, although softly.  
  
Makoe quirked an ironic eyebrow at the two remaining vampires who were regarding him with similar expressions of surprise/neutrality.  
  
::Better me than you,:: he told Leon enigmatically and saw the slight shift in the other's expression. Stefan quietly took a seat, eyes darting between Makoe to Leon.   
  
The phlegmatic vampire let the obscure comment slide by. ::Where were you?:: he asked instead. ::We saw your car when we got back, but you two were not around.::  
  
::In the woods,:: Makoe replied truthfully. ::The high way is a different place at night.:: On a night with a full moon, it could be magical, romantic. A slightly arch note in his telepathy hinted at various meaning of his last words.  
  
::...I'm sure,:: Leon nodded after a brief hesitation.   
  
Makoe shoved away from the wall a second time and made for his room. From where he was sitting, Leon would have missed the way Makoe's cold dark eyes slid sideways to meet Stefan's gaze.  
  
And the faint, sly smile that seemed to curve Makoe's lips.  
  
***  
  
"I am Elena Gilbert."   
  
She looked at the inhumanly beautiful faces turned towards her slowly.   
  
"You may have been told a bit about me." Behind her, the Turned were lined in a ragged line, sitting on rocks or leaning against trees. They were within the warded enclosure set aside for the slightly more than sixty vampires that were gathered.   
  
"You may have your questions, your doubts, your fears about what you have heard." All eyes were fixed on her. Elena concentrated on sending her message clearly to them, that this was entirely up to them.   
  
"I'm here to answer as many of them as I can." She talked to them, telling them as simply and clearly as possible what was to happen and how. She replied to the occasional shouted question tossed at her. She maintained a calm tone throughout, careful to balance out the vampires' tension.   
  
"Now, some of you may have private questions or doubts, yet," she said, concluding her public address. "I will see each of you one at a time in there, to clear any further issues up, if I can." She pointed to a small cabin just outside the warded area. "And to make sure you understand what you're accepting." Her chin lifted slightly. "That's part of _my_ conditions."  
  
In the course of the day, she met each of the future Turned as they were ushered in one at a time. Some lingered to talk out some lingering self-doubts, but most were content to exchange a quick word with her. Stefan and the other vampires stayed near at hand, more effective guards than the Turned, who were human.   
  
Finally, the last vampire was led out and she rose to stretch stiffened muscles. Warm fingers closed on her shoulders and neck, massaging. "Hm..." she said appreciatively, leaning back against Stefan.   
  
"Satisfied?" he asked quietly.   
  
"With what, the backrub? Not just yet, keep it up," she said, closing her eyes blissfully. He chuckled, even as he squeezed her admonishingly for her deliberate misinterpretation of his question. "They seem all right. Some are clearly unhappy as vampires. Many are quite young."  
  
"So we go ahead?" came a new voice from the doorway. Stefan's fingers stilled although he kept his hands on her shoulders. Elena opened her eyes to look at Jerrick directly. The other vampires went on alert as well, all motion ceasing and all eyes trained on their former captor.  
  
"Yes. We'll proceed as planned. You can prepare to summon Klaus tomorrow evening," Elena confirmed at length.  
  
The self-contained master orchestrater of this entire plan nodded. "This cabin will do nicely. Close enough to the vampires yet private enough for you to deal with him." A slight emphasis on the last pronoun left little doubt as to who Jerrick was referring to.  
  
Elena frowned a little. Yes, the fewer people knew about the unmaking of the Old Ones, the better, but she disliked the slight duplicity in not telling the vampires this part of the Turning. ::Peace, Elena. It does them no harm and us a lot of good,:: Jerrick said, causing her to stiffen.   
  
"Stay out of my mind," she snapped.  
  
"I didn't have to read your mind to know what you were thinking; it was plain from your expression," the unassuming-looking red-haired man said mildly. "I shall inform the witches accordingly," he added, withdrawing, to her relief. She felt a headache in the making. It wasn't helped by Jerrick's silent parting words.  
  
::You should rest and conserve your energy for tomorrow.::  
  
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* If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really does_ makes a difference. 


	46. Chapter Forty Five: For Good

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 8 April 2003  
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~ Forty Five ~  
  
The Old One stopped writhing against the multitude of ghostly hands that tugged and grabbed and clawed at him, realizing that they had melted away like a bad dream. He opened his eyes in disbelief and looked around the small, dimly lit wood cabin he found himself in.  
  
The threadbare, tan raincoat, the messy, almost-white shock of hair and the overall grimy appearance were precisely the same as they had been that night in the fire-ridden clearing in Virginia. So were the electric blue eyes that locked on Stefan with such intensity.   
  
He smiled, an unpleasant, bloodthirsty baring of teeth.  
  
"Salvatore! What a _pleasant_ surprise!" The voice was also as he remembered it; false joviality thinly covering cutting malevolence. He tugged at his clothes, like a man brushing himself off. "To what do I owe this?" A sweep of his hand indicated the unexpected emancipation as well as the meeting.  
  
Stefan did not answer. At a silent signal, the thus-far unnoticed witches turned and filed silently out of the cabin. He heard a step beside and behind him as Elena came out of the shadows and showed herself.  
  
The reaction she drew was instantaneous. "_You!_" hissed the Old One, canines elongating and body tensing to spring. If Klaus hated Stefan, he loathed Elena. It was she who had imprisoned him in the spirit realm for the past year.   
  
Elena took another step forward so that she was just slightly in front of Stefan. Her face was serene as she gazed at the Old One. She simply nodded at his exclamation. "Yes. Me."  
  
"You're dead! What are you doing here?" Klaus demanded furiously, incensed that she should be alive while he had been held on the other plane. "And why did you bring me here?" he added, suddenly suspicious.  
  
"To obliterate you permanently," Elena said calmly. Klaus stared at her for a full five seconds and then he exploded into mirth. Stefan tensed defensively as Klaus' laughter thundered to the vaulted ceiling of the cabin but a quick glance at Elena showed that she was not at all disturbed by the wild display. Eventually, the manic roars died down to a gasping chuckle.   
  
"You little mortal _fools_," the Old One panted. "You brought me back here to _kill_ me? Don't you know that _I can never die_?" He lapsed back into insane chortles, as if the joke was on them. And as far as he knew, it _was_. Elena dispelled his illusions quickly, with simple, quiet words.  
  
"Not kill. Unmake. Kellas Rahba."  
  
The laughter died without a sputter. This time, the immortal's stunned expression was a mixture of astonishment – and fear. His nerves wound to harp-string tightness, Stefan kept his eyes firmly on Klaus – Kellas Rahba. Elena had told him what to expect. She would know the Old One's Name when she saw him. And when she revealed that she knew...  
  
"_E'ya tenua_–" Klaus breathed unthinkingly, causing Stefan to blink. The Italian vampire was even more astonished when Elena nodded.  
  
"_Mi'eh, naii kentri e'yem kacheyth,_" she said crisply, with no trace of awkwardness as she spoke. Stefan turned his head slightly to look at her, though he was careful to keep Klaus squarely in his line of sight. This, he had heard nothing off. He reached for her mind but found it surrounded by a hard, smooth mental shield that he had never encountered before.   
  
He was instantly alarmed, until he felt a familiar touch on his own mind. ::It is a protection. To keep the Old Ones from influencing her when she deals with them,:: Jerrick explained. Stefan relaxed, taking the lame man's word for truth.  
  
Klaus, meanwhile, had clamped his mouth tightly shut and his nostrils flared. "This is a trick," he snapped.  
  
"No trick, Old One. It ends here," Elena told him, her tone flat.  
  
In a burst of seeming denial, Klaus rushed towards them. He stopped short when he met the invisible wall of the ward, impacting and bouncing off it with the full force of his forward momentum. He stumbled back, dazed and disbelieving as his eyes scanned the air in front of him, as if trying to see the shield of pure force with his eyes. But then, his was control of energy forces; maybe his eyes _could_ perceive lines of power.   
  
Whatever he saw, he collected himself quickly after that and did not attempt to force his way across the barrier. Vivid blue eyes focused beyond the ward and behind Stefan and Elena, searching for something to use as a weapon. Stefan was glad they had emptied the cabin of all contents. Finding no handy projectiles available, Klaus evidently looked further afield.   
  
Thunder rumbled in the distance.   
  
Klaus' eyes fixed on them and his mouth curved triumphantly. Elena continued to watch him with a stoic expression, unimpressed and coolly unaffected by his machinations. 'Do what you will, give it your best shot; it will make no difference in the end,' her demeanor said silently. Her confidence lent strength to her psychological position.  
  
The rumbling grew louder. Overhead, there was a sudden, sharp crack, as if the heavens tore asunder. The entire cabin reverberated with the force of the strike. And the next. And the next. Each crash threatened to bring the roof down over their heads and tear the entire cabin apart around them.   
  
It began to rain dust and debris. Small chips of wood began falling from the ceiling, then bigger ones. The cabin seemed to groan as the onslaught continued. Then panels in the wall and roof started coming apart. Jagged pieces of wood tore loose from its joining and began streaking through the air madly.   
  
Stefan stepped closer to Elena, eyes darting about to follow the random-seeming movements of the projectiles. Outside, thunder continued to growl sullenly. Through the window, the night began to take on a ruddy light.  
  
"I will burn this place down around us if I have to," Klaus cackled wildly. With the whites showing all around his eyes, he looked truly mad. "_You_ will die and _I_ will walk out of here without a scratch. But that would be too easy." His tone... twisted as he focused his frenzied gaze on the vampire. "No, dying in a fire would be entirely too easy for you."  
  
Stefan caught the sly glance Klaus threw Elena and saw the bit of timber stop its random zipping to fly straight at her. He reached out with vampiric quickness and knocked the speeding projectile aside. He suppressed a scream, hissing as the splintered leading edge slammed into his left hand. The length of wood clattered to the ground, once again inanimate, but leaving wicked splinters embedded in Stefan's flesh. He was hardly aware of Klaus' mad laughter, distracted by the searing pain of his palm.   
  
He did not notice the sharp, two-inch thick makeshift lance until it was too late.  
  
It slammed into his right shoulder, driving him back with enough force to pin him to the beam behind him.   
  
"_Stefan!_" Elena's horrified scream pealed in his ears. Gasping from the pain, he forced his eyes open to see her standing, half turned and blanched with horror at the sight of him riveted to the wooden support pillar. Then she was beside him, frantically looking over the injury. Biting her lip, she grasped the stake, but even that slight movement bleached color from his face and she let go immediately. He noticed, in that clinical part of his mind, that she was trembling. Before he could do more than hiss and flinch, she whirled back to face Klaus, who had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.   
  
"I'll deal with you later, Salvatore. But we can always have some fun first." The gleeful, malicious tones gave Stefan a terrible sense of déjà vu that made his blood run cold in the midst of his painful haze.  
  
Then, he saw the score or so of needle-like fragments that wheeled like a flock of birds to race towards him and embed themselves in his abdomen and legs. He couldn't help it this time; he screamed.  
  
"Stop!" Elena shouted, the sound seeming to come from far, far away. When he managed to open his eyes again, he saw Elena standing at the edge of the ward, her rigid back to him, her fists tight at her sides. There were still plenty of stray missiles that might easily pierce her fragile human body. Stefan's heart pounded and adrenaline shocked him out of his pain stupor. Be careful, he pleaded with her silently, held fast to the pillar. He grasped the impaling piece of wood with his left hand but the splinters in his palm made his grip light and clumsy, which in turn aggravated the stake-wound until his vision blurred with pain.  
  
The air began to smell of smoke, and outside, the sky took on an angry red hue. Her voice sounded like she spoke through clenched teeth, Elena said, "Enough of this."   
  
Helplessly, Stefan saw her step up to the ward and across it. "No!" he breathed fiercely as she walked right up to the grinning Old One, his own agony all but forgotten. His green eyes were feverish as he stared at the scene before him.   
  
The crackling of thunder had given way to an ominous, muffled roar, broken by occasional crashes of branches tearing from trees to fall to the ground. The red glow through the window lit Klaus' face luridly and made the unpleasant smile he gave Elena clearly visible. Elena lifted a hand and placed it on the side of Klaus' neck. Against the red glare of the outside, she began to glow a faint, clean white.   
  
Klaus didn't give her a chance.   
  
He snatched her hand away from him, and squeezed her fingers, twisting her wrist at a cruel angle. He seemed to be forcing her to her knees, pressing her palm backwards until Stefan heard the joint strain horribly. In an abrupt motion, Klaus released the hand, which flopped weakly by Elena's side.   
  
"So good of you to join me," he purred, his smooth tone at odds with the brutal way he grabbed her and pulled her close to thrust his face a fraction of an inch from hers. The fingers circling Elena's arms began to close mercilessly until the snapping sound that reached Stefan's ears did not come from outside the cabin. Elena's gasps of pain filled the cabin.   
  
Klaus released her arms to bury his fingers in the fine gold hair at the back of her head and yanked her upright when she threatened to crumple. He leered, then backhanded her. Her head snapped to one side, but he kept a grip on her hair and jerked her about to face him once again.   
  
He seemed to have completely forgotten Stefan as he gazed down at Elena almost dreamily. "Oh, you have no idea how much and how long I've wanted to do this. For just one chance to reach you and hold you in my hands." Almost casually, he drove a fist into her ribcage, breaking bones with a shockingly loud snap. Stefan strained against the spike holding him in place, almost heedless of the pain flooding him and the blood soaking through his clothes to drip onto the floor.   
  
"But, you'll learn," Klaus was saying, wrenching Elena's face up to meet his again. "Now I can finish this once and for all. Starting with you, followed by your boyfriend over there, then his upstart brother, and that impudent little redheaded minx of a friend of yours." He laughed nastily. "Who knows? I may even keep her for a while if she amuses me."   
  
He shook his head slowly, mockingly pitiful. "Whatever tricks you have up your sleeve," he said, fingers of his free hand trailing down her cheek, then closing on the delicate bones of her jaw. The sick crunching sound that followed was all Stefan seemed to hear. "You are still only a human," he finished viciously.  
  
"Elena!" Stefan shouted. Hardly aware of what he was doing, only focused on his goal, the fingers of his left hand closed around the rivet and pulled. He might have fainted momentarily from the pain but he found himself stumbling heedlessly across the room. He barged through the ward and knocked the unprepared Old One aside with his drunken, uncoordinated momentum. He caught Elena in his arms as she swayed and holding her carefully, fell to his knees. Blood poured from her nose and mouth, her jaw was misshapen, slack and quickly turning an ugly shade of purple and her arms and body were frighteningly limp. "Elena," he whispered, a note of question in his tone. She was still glowing, he noticed. And he knew what he had to do.  
  
A shadow loomed over them. Stefan turned his head to glare at Klaus with almost uncontainable rage. As gently as he could, he laid Elena on the ground and rose unsteadily to his feet. He vaguely realized that his left hand was clenched around the stake that had recently been lodged in his right shoulder.  
  
"Come to join the fun, Salvatore? You always were a jealous one. Never wanted to share. That's what started this entire problem in the first place, but do you learn?" The Old One shook his head sadly, then look wide-eyed surprised as a stake lodged itself in his throat.   
  
Stefan didn't give him a chance to recover. Hanging on to his coordination and strength precariously, he attacked. A kick behind the knees and some rough twisting of limbs laid the Original on the ground and immobile.   
  
Flat on his stomach, craning his neck back to keep the end of the stake from driving further into his throat, with his arms and legs yanked uncomfortably behind him, Klaus barely took a second to recover and began struggling to get free. But even for an immortal, having a piece of wood piercing his windpipe must have been an uncomfortable and distracting feeling.   
  
Stefan sat on his back for good measure. Carefully taking Elena hand, he placed it on the Old One, covering it with his own and holding it in place when it started to slip off lifelessly. Spots danced before his eyes in earnest now from the lack of blood but he dared not show any weakness.   
  
What followed, Stefan couldn't know completely. All he saw was the way Elena's aura spread to envelope Klaus, who was writhing beneath Stefan futilely. The stake in his throat turned his words into furious gurgles, but did little to hamper his energy. Stefan hung on with all his strength, gritting his teeth against the cry that threatened to tear from him as the struggling and exertions shifted the wooden splinters still in his legs and abdomen.   
  
After what felt like an agonizingly long time, Klaus' entire body was sheathed in light. His gurgles turning into howls of denial as his body seemed to loose substance and dissolve like so much smoke. Stefan merely held him until there was nothing left to hold and he found himself sitting on the floor of the cabin alone with Elena. Outside, the angry red glow had not faded.  
  
"Elena," he croaked, body loosening with pain and lightheadedness now that the danger was over. He blinked, taking a moment to realize that they had done it. They had done it! Klaus was no more!  
  
He inched towards her as quickly as he could, moving like a geezer now that battle tension had melted away and left him weak. As carefully as he could, he gathered her up in his arms. Her wide, staring eyes momentarily terrified him, but then he realized she was still breathing.   
  
Blood. Too much blood. Stefan vaguely realized that he was staring at the little rivers of blood running down her white skin. He needed blood. He and Elena were staining each other scarlet. It was hard to tell who was bleeding where anymore. Stefan's shoulder started throbbing in time with the pounding of his pulse in his ears.  
  
Movement in the periphery of his vision broke his half-tranced stated. He lifted his head tiredly. A tall, unimposing redheaded man and a woman with black hair and blue eyes stood nearby. The man waved a hand and his mouth moved soundlessly and then the pair stepped closer. The woman murmured words that didn't register with the vampire. "He's going into shock...don't know if I can heal all this in time...Come on, Elena, give me a line here..." He heard the words but didn't understand them.   
  
Then slowly, he felt a warmth flowing through him, a gentle wave that carried pain away with it when it left. He blinked, lucidity returning. Green eyes flicked from Madelene Ernst who was still bent over the figure cradled in his arms, to Jerrick, standing quietly to one side.   
  
Before Stefan could find words to speak, Elena stirred, capturing all his attention. Her expression – the glimpse of it he caught as she rose – was abstracted and strangely impersonal. Alien.   
  
::She is holding the Old One's residual Power in check. Do nothing to distract her,:: Jerrick counseled.  
  
Elena was still covered with blood but seemed completely healed as she walked towards the door of the cabin without a backward glance, moving with even, unhurried steps. Maddy remained kneeling in front of Stefan for a moment, head bowed in exhaustion. Even with Power at her disposal, healing required a lot of effort. And the wounds she had just healed on them both were anything but trivial.  
  
Jerrick started after Elena with his limping stride. Stefan rotated his shoulder experimentally, then touched the healer's elbow, leaving a stain. He stared, then looked down at himself. He look like he'd just bathed in blood. "Thank you," he said quietly. Her head shifted in a faint nod of acknowledgement. He rose to follow Elena and Jerrick.   
  
***  
  
The wood was burning. His uneven stride faltered as his eyes caught on the flaming limbs. The cabin stood safely away from the stand of trees, fortunately, so there was little immediate danger of it burning down around Elena and Stefan.   
  
Another great branch tore from the tree trunk with a nerve-grating cry and crashed to the ground. Suppressing the foreign urge to spin raw Power into dousing the flames, Jerrick forced himself to focus on Elena and resume his limping track after her. Even as he started moving again, a handful of Turned came running up, unrolling a heavy fire hose as they went. Jerrick waved them away when they started at the sight of Elena covered with blood. Behind him, Stefan emerged from the lodge and half-ran to catch up.   
  
They followed Elena to the vampire encampment. Jerrick's pale blue eyes swept the scene before them; the vampires were spread out in the open space among the cabins, most of them sitting on blankets or bare grass. They had been fully briefed on what to expect.  
  
"As it was when you were changed to vampires," he had told them, "So it is now. You will lose consciousness; your body will be weakened to the point of death, then the transformation will take place. When you will awaken, you will be Turned."   
  
Now the tension in the air was palpable, as was the fear. The unease skyrocketed when Elena came into view, still bloody from her encounter with Kellas Rahba, although she showed no sign of injury. The gathered vampires stirred uneasily, a restless murmur rippling through them.  
  
Heedless of the furor she caused, Elena stepped up to the relative middle of the field, looking at the near three-score vampires with sightless eyes. Stefan stopped, standing alone in the middle of the path leading into the encampment, a gory figure that did nothing to soothe the uneasiness among the gathered. His four companions formed part of the ring at the edge of the encampment along with the witches and the rest of the Turned. Jerrick had to wave the Turned down a second time when some made to come forward, shock and horror on their faces. He heard the whisper of a telepathic conversation between the five vampires but paid it no heed. His attention was on Elena.  
  
The air felt heavy with force as Jerrick limped to take his place almost directly behind her. She stood arrow-straight and still glowed faintly. Everything seemed to pause momentarily, as if bracing itself for what was to come.   
  
Jerrick shut his eyes and reached out to touch one mind among the many... There. A young girl, terrified of what she was. She wanted to be human again. She wanted this nightmare to end.  
  
The gift within Elena roused, as if to a silent call. Something seemed to open its eyes and take in the assembly. Jerrick, watching, saw it tap into the seething whirlpool of Power that Elena so carefully controlled. It... shrunk in on itself, like a cat crouching to spring, and _leapt_–  
  
The young female vampire dropped like a bird shot in mid-flight. Even as Power coiled around the inert form and sunk to the very core of the body, Jerrick's ears caught the startled – in some cases, horrified – gasps. Quickly, he sought out another mind – one dawning with hope amid the fear. The man collapsed abruptly as people began to whisper that the first girl no longer breathed. As attention turned to the man, Jerrick sought and found a third willing mind.  
  
And so it went. As he had hoped, the mob sentiment snowballed towards hope and desire, calling Elena's gift more quickly with each passing second, until they were the only two upright bodies left in the middle of the clearing.   
  
As the last tendril of Power wrapped itself around a vampire and disappeared, Elena came back into herself and swayed on her feet. Jerrick knew better than to touch her. Stefan was quick in coming forward to do the honors.   
  
"Stefan," she gasped softly and nearly lost her balance turning too fast to stare at him. "Your wounds–!" She stared, wide-eyed and horrified at his encrusted clothes. No longer the coolly detached being who had left the wood cabin, she was only Elena Gilbert now.  
  
"Maddy healed them before she took care of yours. I'm fine," he reassured soothingly. "Yours were the worse injuries," he added, catching her as she swayed again. "Come on. You need to rest."  
  
And you, Jerrick thought to him, need to hunt. Even as he limped away, leaving the couple to fuss over each other, he hadn't missed the careful control in the vampire's tone. Wordlessly, Jerrick retreated to the privacy of his own room, to keep watch over the new Turned from afar as they underwent their change.   
  
As he settled into his chair and sent searching tendrils of thought out, the first of the vampires to fall drew a shuddering breath.  
  
***  
  
"Well. Are you satisfied with how things...ah...turned out?"  
  
Jerrick paused delicately at the slight pun. Elena was not amused. She was seated beside Stefan in the den with Jerrick the next day, to see to the next steps in their plan. Or rather, Jerrick's plan.   
  
The newly Turned seemed all right. Every one had awaken in good health the night before. Some were outright joyful and delighted with their return to – relative – humanity. Others were a little shaken, but no one had broken down and tried to kill themselves. Yet.  
  
"It's a little early to tell," Elena said flatly. Beside her, Stefan was still as a statue, alert, poised, silently supportive.  
  
Jerrick rested his temple against a hand he propped onto the arm of the chair and regarded her with his head tilted. "I was referring to the channeling of Power. Is it not the mutually beneficial arrangement I promised? I truly think this is why you were given the ability to Turn. The melding of both tasks is too seamless to be otherwise."  
  
Elena's nose twitched, not quite a scoffing sniff. "That is yet to be seen." She hadn't forgotten the fifty odd vampires she had changed against their will in Turkey. She was still waiting to see how these newly changed ex-vampires dealt with the transformation, still looking for a hidden catch in Jerrick's seemingly perfect plan. With an impatient toss of her head, she asked abruptly, "What's next?"  
  
Jerrick leaned back against his chair leisurely, lacing his fingers over one knee. "I thought we'd give the new Turned a few days to settle down and adapt. Some of the original Turned can set out looking for vampires but the rest will be needed to support the new ones for the time being. Perhaps by the middle or end of the week, we can send them out in pairs to join the search." He paused before adding, "I will leave to retrieve the next target at the end of the week."  
  
Elena's head reared. "You're going alone?" she asked sharply. She noticed that he said 'I' and not 'we'.  
  
The unassuming-looking redheaded man wagged his head from side to side, an ambiguous gesture. "Not entirely. I will need perhaps a couple of the Turned and some of the witches. And perhaps I'll call some old friends." He smiled faintly, a gesture Elena did not find reassuring at all. In casual tones, he commented "I hear things have been rather quiet at the Baron place. Perhaps Elsa and Jason would like a working holiday."  
  
Lapis lazuli eyes narrowed. "You're playing with fire, stealing Crystal's hunters away from her," she warned.  
  
"It's their choice. She doesn't own them. Neither do I force them to come along," Jerrick said mildly. Something in his too-calm tone, however, hinted of impatience.   
  
Elena subsided reluctantly and pursued a different vein of thought. "Why am I not going along to get the Old One? And where is he?"  
  
"England," Jerrick said briefly, answering the second question first. "As to the other," and his blue eyes leveled on hers calmly. "Can you contain an Original?"  
  
She drew breath to answer then considered the question and shook her head mutely. Jerrick nodded once. "Your task lies elsewhere," he said gently, sounding almost consoling or contrite over his pointed question. "I'll manage, I think, with some help in practical matters. Which is why I'm taking the Turned, witches and hunters with me."  
  
Discontentment settled in her stomach and left a niggling feeling in the back of her head. Elena paused to try and identify the reason for her turmoil. The only thing that came to mind was the fact that, for the first time, she was not being directly included in dealing with an Old One.   
  
That was silly, she told herself. Jerrick can handle it. It was he who had brought about their downfall in the first place! She looked up at him, momentarily letting her inherent animosity and mistrust of him slip away. The lame, mild man looked back at her, patiently waiting for her to speak.  
  
"You're leaving at the end of the week?" He nodded. "How long will you be gone?"   
  
He shrugged to that question. "It depends on how successful my operatives are in actually pinpointing him. Three days, five perhaps."   
  
"We'll have to hold on to the vampires until you get back. That might cause problems," she said thoughtfully. "Their temper's tricky. Perhaps you ought to leave earlier?"  
  
She was given a sardonic look through pale blue eyes. "Controlling vampires is easier than keeping an Old One contained," Jerrick said dryly. "I'd rather have the vampires wait for the Old One than the reverse. I'm sure there's plenty that can be done while I'm away. Preparing the vampires for what life as Turned will be like, for one." He rose, signaling an end to the conversation. "As soon as I return, the unmaking and Turning will commence," he told her. The mild tone did not fool her; he was _telling_ her how it was to be.  
  
Elena was not at all happy at being ordered, even in so polite and subtle a manner, but she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded agreement to his words. "So what do we do now?"  
  
Jerrick spoke with his back to them as he limped painstakingly to the door. "As I said, help the new Turned to adapt and prepare them to find more vampires. Also, I believe we should resume weapons training. It will help the new ones get used to being human again and ensure they're at least marginally capable of defending themselves if the need arises."  
  
It was doubtful that Jerrick saw her nod before he shut the door behind him, leaving her alone with Stefan. Stillness settled over the room like a blanket then; it was a few moments before Stefan stirred. He lifted a hand and combed his fingers through her bright hair. She sighed, leaning into the touch.   
  
::Are you all right?:: he asked. She shifted, tucking one shoulder under his arm. "I'm okay," she said softly. "Are you sure you're fine? No more wood chips left in you anywhere?" she asked for the umpteenth time.  
  
He pressed a wry smile against her hair. ::None.::   
  
"Hm…" She realized that he had been using telepathy quite a bit lately. Not that she minded; there was something oddly intimate about hearing his caressing voice in her head and his mental speech was richer, carried a stronger sense of _him_, than verbal talk. However, she did wonder–  
  
"Will you miss telepathy?" Against her, she felt him stiffen slightly at the mumbled question. After a moment, he replied, ::Not particularly, I think.:: "It's not as if I use it all the time," he continued aloud. "I'm sure the loss of the ability would not cause me too much inconvenience."  
  
"You've been using it quite a bit lately. More than you used to, anyway." She lifted her head slightly to look at his face. "It will be just one of the things you're lose if you are Turned."  
  
"When," he corrected curtly. "Not if. You said we would see how things went with this first attempt. I'd say things went just as planned. Nothing untoward happened. I don't see any reason I can't join the next batch of vampires to be Turned."  
  
Elena's eyes flashed with irritation at his tone. "You may not but I do! There must be a drawback to this plan somewhere. That we can't find one only makes me more suspicious," she retorted.   
"Perhaps Jerrick is right? Perhaps this _is_ the way your abilities were intended to work, in concert," Stefan suggested in a quieter tone. Before she could reply, his arm tightened around her and he shook his head. "That's besides the point.  
  
"Elena," he tipped his chin down and looked at her, soberly. "Telepathy, vampiric strength, inhuman endurance, immortality; I'd give up all this and more without a second thought for a chance at a normal, human life with you. Let me finish," he said when she started to speak. She subsided.  
  
"You agreed to this task for the same chance. If you can face dangers and risk for that one chance, what makes you think that I cannot?" he asked quietly.  
  
She had no answer to this honest, searching question. All she could do was lean back into his embrace, slipping her arms around him and feeling his encircle her. Against his light sweater, she nodded simple acquiescence.   
  
He had made his decision and she could not refuse him any longer. He would join the next group of vampires to be Turned.   
  
Elena felt tears well up in her eyes, born of fear, but also of love.  
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* Kellas Rahba can be translated to mean 'great chaos'. If you read this, if you like it, if you hate it, please let me know! Your feedback _really does_ makes a difference. 


	47. Chapter Forty Six: Double Blind

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 10 May 2003  
  
* See the Reviews area for my abject apologies.  
  
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~ Forty Six ~   
  
"Right. Yes. I know where that is. Okay. We'll be there soon."   
  
The phone fell back into the cradle with a brief clatter and Elsa turned to meet Jason's enquiring gaze.   
  
"That was Jerrick," she said without preamble. "He asked us to go by his place."  
  
"Why?" the laconic archer asked sitting up straighter in the armchair. He tossed aside the magazine he had been idly leafing through.   
  
Elsa's blue eyes rolled ceiling-ward. "Why do you think?" she turned the question back at him derisively. "Either he's lonely for old friends or he's going to ask if we want in on some action. I'll give you one guess," she smirked.  
  
Jason's lip curled, but it was unclear if the expression was in response to her jibing or due to the lack of activity among the vampire hunters since the witches left. Rather than spring out of his seat, he eyed her measuringly.  
  
One red-brown eyebrow arched in inquiry. "Yes?" she drawled, looking at him expectantly.   
  
"You're not really thinking of going over there? You know Crystal won't tolerate us associating with Jerrick," he reminded.  
  
Elsa snorted. "And what is she offering us in exchange? I haven't heard of a single lead in all this time. I'm not going to sit around doing nothing for weeks and months when there are vampires to be killed," she retorted.  
  
"Newsflash, Maeven; Jerrick's _working_ with vampires," Jason returned sarcastically.   
  
"Only a specific handful. And he's also working on exterminating the very first vampires ever," Elsa pointed out. She put her hands on her hips. "Enough with the petty arguments. Are you coming or not?" she demanded. "I have the address; I can get there with or without you."   
  
Jason's movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was reluctant.   
  
"Come on," she half-coaxed. "It can't hurt to go over there and hear what he has to say."  
  
"It can hurt a whole lot if Crystal finds out about this," Jason muttered back. But Elsa could see the gleam on interest in his dark eyes. She nodded to herself and followed him out of the room and down the hall, barely noticing Peter Pearson as they passed him.   
  
They didn't see the look of malicious glee he aimed after them either.  
  
***  
  
The wood was filled with the sound of activity.   
  
Over to one side, the rhythmic crack of wood on wood sounded as Elena and Stefan faced each other with six-foot lances. The pair made it look like an elaborate and graceful dance as they traded blows, keeping up a running commentary. Elena was holding her own, although Samar suspected that Stefan was matching her pace and not pushing the exchange to his limits. Ten pairs of ex-vampires were sprawled on the ground or standing about the couple, watching intently, each holding a staff of their own.   
  
Leon's voice drifted from another part of the woods. He was removed from the rest and hidden from view among the trees with the group he was brainwashing with his strategy and combat psychology. His words were not audible, merely the sound of his voice rising and falling as he illustrated his points.  
  
Once in a while, Tristan felt that his students may know enough to point a gun and pull the trigger. Then gunshots would ring among the stately boughs. The shots never rang for very long as Tristan halted his ten pupils to lecture them some more on the proper use and respect for his weapon of choice. Thank goodness these guns had been provided by Jerrick. Had they been from Tristan's personal collection, no one would ever fire a shot.  
  
Samar stood among her own group, watching pairs of Turned practicing basic strikes and blocks against each other. It had been difficult for her to teach the now-humans to fight because her own learning had been so unstructured.   
  
However, she had to devise some simple yet effective exercises for them since there was only one of her and twenty of them; she could not have the one-on-one arrangement as she had had with Makoe.  
  
Makoe.  
  
Thinking of him made her eyes drift over to where the enigmatic, expressionless vampire was teaching another group of trainees blade-work. The metal knives and larger rapiers occasionally caught the light that filtered through the leaves. It was a picturesque scene; a group of young, uncommonly beautiful people standing amidst the stately trunks and lush greenery of lawn and leaves.  
  
She had not had a chance to spend any time with Aodhan since the night of the race. They had been busy preparing for the Turning, then in the days following that unsettling night, they had been preoccupied with training the Turned.   
  
And, Samar thought, frowning faintly, Tristan has not exactly made it easy for her to have a private word with Makoe either. The tall vampire was always hovering about one of them or the other. Samar didn't have to be a genius to figure out what her older brother was trying to do and she was _not_ amused.   
  
Makoe himself was not helping. He didn't seem to be making any special effort to be with her either. In fact, he acted much like he always did, as if that incredible hunt and kiss had never happened.  
  
Samar abruptly realized that she was ignoring her students and watching the dark-haired vampire absorbedly. At that moment, he looked up and caught her eye. The calm air about him made her think that he was fully aware that she had been watching him. Her heart did flip-flops, her earlier annoyance at him forgotten. He moved his head in the slightest inclination of acknowledgement and his expression seemed to turn sardonic without really changing.   
  
Pursing her lip, Samar tore her gaze away from his and looked at the Turned who were exchanging awkward and tentative blows. "Put some heart into it, people. You're fighting, not playing tag," she barked the first thing that came to mind.  
  
"A vampire. Teaching Turned to fight vampires," snorted an unfamiliar voice behind her. The derisive tone sparked her already frayed nerves to temper and she whirled to face the speaker. "Talk about working at cross purposes."  
  
An impressively built woman stood beside a brooding, ascetic man who made her think of Robin Hood, even though he was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans. Samar's eyes narrowed on them and some instinct screamed: 'Hunters!' She tensed, really to call for the others, then noticed Eiran and Jerrick with them and decided that they were non-hostile. The witch looked even more frail and helpless than usual, in contrast with the strangers.   
  
"What's wrong with that?" Samar addressed the woman, who had obviously been the speaker.   
  
The woman looked at her ironically. "Would you trust a hunter to teach a vampire to defend himself against other hunters?"  
  
"If the hunter really wanted to make sure the vampire could defend himself against other hunters, yes," Samar said. She crossed her arms, as if daring the woman to refute her, and sent out an alert to the others. Nothing alarming, just to let them know there were visitors about.  
  
"And why would a hunter try and protect a vampire? It makes no sense," the huntress pointed out. What was it with these mouthy female slayers? First Taura and now this hulking valkyrie.  
  
"It's a matter of honor and pride, Elsa," Jerrick interjected smoothly. "The skill of their students reflects on their own abilities." He waved a hand at the vampires who had now gathered. Elena was with Stefan, holding her staff. She nodded greeting to the hunters, but Elsa had not taken her eyes off Samar and missed the gesture. Jason returned the acknowledgment then looked around.   
  
"No archers," he said shortly, slanting Eiran a censorious look.   
  
The Turned shrugged a little, deprecatingly. "Jerrick has other duties for me so I haven't time to train anyone," he explained. Samar had to give him credit for not sounding sheepish. From the exchange, she guessed that this hunter had been his instructor. Her impression of 'Merry Men' increased with this tidbit.  
  
"In any case, Jason, the bow is not a very practical weapon for the Turned," Jerrick commented, drawing a brooding look from the master archer. Jerrick, of course, didn't bat an eyelash. "They will be searching for vampires. They need to be able to defend themselves, not be seen as aggressive," the frail-looking witch explained mildly. "A bow slung over one shoulder would be too conspicuous and threatening."  
  
Jason looked skeptical, as if challenging Jerrick's words but before he could speak, Samar's attention was pulled abruptly back to Elsa.  
  
"If there's no issue with integrity, that only leaves one more concern," the female fighter all but purred, taking a step closer.  
  
Samar had to tip her head back a little to gaze at her face and she was well aware of the concern/warning/aggression coming from the other vampires but she held her ground. "And what would be?" she asked, insolent and bored.  
  
The fighter's blue eyes narrowed above the nasty smile that formed on her lips. "The question of competence," she stated. That was all the warning Samar got before the huntress struck. Her hand swung in a chopping motion, aiming for Samar's flank.  
  
The petite vampire blocked the blow, rightly enough, but could not completely absorb the force and curvetted away, stumbling back two steps. Her hazel eyes were huge with outrage as Elsa continued to smile and motioned her to come closer.  
  
Samar didn't see the looks the others exchanged, the sharp glances at Jerrick, or the bland expression he returned. She rubbed her stinging forearm unconsciously, staring back at the mocking huntress in front of her and hearing the cool voice in her head. ::Temper, temper.:: She took a deep, calming breath and thought about this fight.   
  
They were about evenly matched, she supposed; vampiric strength against greater bulk. But given the advantage of momentum, Elsa's blows really could hurt, as Samar already found out. So. Negate that advantage by not giving her the opening for a full blow. Speed and guile.   
  
::That's my girl.::  
  
Samar's teeth flashed in a feral smile. She stepped back up to Elsa and tipped her head, inviting the next move, unobtrusively watching the play of muscles under the other's skin.   
  
Around them, everyone seemed frozen. There was a tension-filled moment before Elsa moved, kicking out to sweep Samar's legs from under her. Taken by surprise, Samar found herself hopping, and then coming down _on_ Elsa's calf and knee as the woman's foot made its pass. Using that as a springboard, the vampire girl jumped and flipped backwards like a gymnast, aiming a heel at Elsa's chin on the way. Samar almost laughed; that was _too_ easy!  
  
::Bad idea,:: came the thought just as her ankle was grabbed and she was yanked back towards the huntress. She sprawled unceremoniously on the ground at Elsa's feet. The huntress, she couldn't help but notice with some satisfaction, was favoring one leg. She lifted that foot, no doubt to plant it somewhere on Samar's anatomy but the vampire didn't give her the chance.   
  
Quickly recovering her breath, Samar rolled away and smoothly stood up. Challenging stares were exchanged as the two fighters closed the distance. Elsa hit out again and Samar ducked this time, driving her small fist into the other's side. She followed up her advantage with a sharp, upward cut at the vulnerable joining of Elsa's shoulder then darted around the larger fighter and kicked at the back of her injured leg. The knee buckled and Elsa went down, further damaging that kneecap, perhaps.  
  
::Don't get cocky, now,:: was the laconic advise.   
  
::Killjoy,:: she returned, but fondly. Elsa got back on her feet relatively quickly, considering that she must be in some pain. She whirled to face her petite opponent and Samar noted the woman's flushed face. As the large huntress approached her, Samar observed impudently, "You almost walk like Jerrick now. Have I proven my competence yet, vampire hunter?" she asked.  
  
"Not. Quite," the woman ground out and launched a series of blindingly quick blows. Samar, surprised, blocked each as they came. The woman had two hands and so did she; she could keep blocking them, surely!   
  
But Elsa's hands were a blur of motion and the strikes came at unexpected angles and directions, aiming for different parts of her body. One blow got past her guard, and then a second, flustering Samar and distracting her. Makoe had taught her to defend herself but never prepared her for skilled and studied artistry like this!  
  
A jab to her face, Samar twisted sideways; a downward stroke at her hand, the vampire deflected it, killing the momentum by moving with the blow and swinging about to bring both hands up again.   
  
She found her wrist captured and grabbed the woman's hand in turn. She spun, intent on throwing Elsa over her shoulder as she once had Stefan but she had overestimated her strength. Or underestimated Elsa's superior size.   
  
Instead of having her opponent sprawled gracelessly on the ground in front of her, the wind knocked out of her lungs by a blow from the back and Samar found herself in a merciless armlock. First one, and then the both arms were twisted behind her. She gasped in pain and tried to jerk out of the hold furiously but Elsa had too good a grip on her.   
  
The slayer kicked out and kneed her in the back. Samar stumbled forward but was yanked pulled up short and fell to her knees. Elsa changed her hold, freeing one hand. Samar looked upwards and behind her when she felt fingers grasping her head.   
  
Elsa was smirking. "Now, little vampire, you would die," she said cruelly. The fingers in her hair tightened meaningfully and Samar felt a flash of genuine fear. One swift jerk of her hand and Samar's neck would snap...  
  
The smile on Elsa's face vanished abruptly and her eyes moved aside. A cold voice said quietly, "I think that's enough." The hold of Samar's head and hands loosened and she hastily got up, ignoring the twinges of pain from pulled and abused muscles.   
  
Makoe was standing over the bending huntress. Oddly, all he was doing was holding a finger to a point on the side of the large woman's neck. "No sudden moves, now," he murmured. "We wouldn't want my finger to accidentally apply pressure in the wrong places?" Dark eyes glanced at Samar and she thought she saw a flash of concern in the impassive depths. Then they flicked to one side and she moved woodenly away a few steps.   
  
A presence beside her and Leon asking if she was okay. She nodded, eyes still fixed on the pair in the middle of the field. She thought she heard Makoe's voice but couldn't make out any words. Then the vampire lowered his hand and came over to where she stood.  
  
Samar began to tremble and when he stopped in front of her, she said inanely, "You shouldn't turn your back on your opponent." One dark eyebrow lifted sardonically. That was all she saw before she threw herself into his arms and began to shake.   
  
Over her head, dark eyes met brown mockingly.  
  
***  
  
Neither Elsa nor Jason were happy campers as they followed Jerrick back to the house. They didn't say a word, but then, neither had to. Their expressions said it all.   
  
Jerrick motioned to them to sit as he himself limped to an armchair set perpendicular to the fireplace.   
  
"Now, then, to business," he began.  
  
Jason shook his head. "Look, Jerrick, I don't see how this is going to work. There's no way we can cooperate with vampires. And certainly not that arrogant lot."  
  
"I'll point out that they were not the ones that started the fight," Jerrick said. His tone was mild but his words struck home anyway.   
  
"But that's besides the point. I'm not asking you to work with them. They will remain here to train the Turned and neutralize any danger from the vampires that will be gathered." He bent them a direct look to emphasize his point. "You, I'm asking to come with me to retrieve the next Old One."  
  
Elsa frowned. "Retrieve?" she repeated.   
  
"Hm, yes. Bring him back here," Jerrick explained, sounding absent about it.  
  
Both hunters expressed surprise in their own way; Elsa blinked, Jason scowled faintly.   
  
"You're going to _capture_ the Old One and bring him back? That can't be easy to do since they're so powerful. Why would you want to do that?" Elsa asked disbelievingly.   
  
Sighing, Jerrick explained how they used the Power of the Old One to Turn vampires. His explanation didn't seem to please either hunter.   
  
"You're making more ex-vampires?"   
  
"Essentially, yes." Jerrick eyed Jason for his flat words. "I suppose you're more inclined to killing them than saving them, but honestly, the end result is the same; a couple hundred fewer vampires in the world," he said urbanely.  
  
"Unnatural," Jason muttered. Jerrick's expression at that pronouncement might have been one of amusement but in the flickering firelight, it was hard to tell.   
  
"It might seem so to you, at least initially," the red-haired witch said with ease. "But all that needs to concern you is that we are going to hunt down and bring back an Old One. I'm offering you both a chance to be part of that hunt," he recapped.   
  
The two hunters exchanged doubtful looks in the moment of silence that followed. Jerrick breathed another sigh and said abruptly, "I'm leaving this weekend. You have two days to consider your decision. Give me your answer by Friday evening." His tone was touched with impatience and clearly indicated a dismissal.   
  
Looking faintly annoyed, the pair got up and left. Neither said much on the way back to Crystal's but both sat still, looking through the windscreen thoughtfully when they had arrived and Jason had parked the car and turned off the engine.   
  
"So what do you think?" Elsa asked. " Worth it?"  
  
Jason merely shook his head and got out of the car.   
  
"It would be different this time, you know? Elena isn't going along, so there'll be more to be done. And from what Jerrick said about this particular Old One, he has his own underlings. Just like the one in Turkey," Elsa pointed out, following him out of the garage and into the mansion.  
  
"Are you saying you want to go?" Jason asked bluntly as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up.  
  
Elsa shut the door behind her with an absent nudge of a foot while taking of her own wrap. "I'm just saying we might want to seriously think about it. I mean, look at our options, weigh all factors, not just go on gut-feel on this," she explained.   
  
"Yes, Jason, you can't make important decisions based on pure emotion, you know?" came a velvety voice from the sitting room just off the main hall.   
  
Both hunters jerked about to see Crystal standing in the threshold, watching them with hooded eyes. Their postures went tense and defensive. She let them stew for a moment, then beckoned them. She turned and preceded them into the room. They exchanged another glance before obeying her summons.   
  
"Sit down, you two," she invited, taking her own seat. She somehow managed to look like a queen on a throne and a feline curled up in a chair at one and the same time.  
  
They sat, keeping their eyes on her warily the entire time.   
  
She eyed them. "Where have you been?" she asked.  
  
She's testing us, Elsa thought. She already knows. "Jerrick's," she said flatly, not liking the probing. Beside her, Jason stiffened in shock.  
  
Crystal nodded slightly, as if in approval. "And what were you doing there?" she prompted.   
  
"Jerrick called. He asked if we wanted to join him in capturing an Old One," Elsa said in clipped tones. Might as well come clean.   
  
Green eyes flashed in outrage. "Still trying to steal my people, is he?" she asked rhetorically. Neither hunter had an answer for her. After the initial anger passed, Crystal reacted much like they had, latching onto the odd phrase. "Capturing? You mean they won't be killing the Old One right off?" she asked with some surprise. And then, Elsa saw calculation slip into her emerald eyes.  
  
"No, Jerrick intends to catch him - he's in England - and bring him back here. Elena will used the power from unmaking the Old One to change vampires back into humans," Jason put in. He added, a tad hastily, "We've more or less decided that we aren't -"   
  
"You will," Crystal cut in abruptly. Jason fell silent. The hunter leader looked thoughtful. Elsa and Jason watched her mutely. Presently, she stirred and got out of her chair.   
  
"Join Jerrick and bring back the Original," she stated, pacing languidly without looking at either of them. Neither Elsa nor Jason mistook her words for anything other than an order. She stopped in front of them and green eyes caught theirs.   
  
"And when the opportunity presents itself, bring the Old One here."  
  
Elsa felt a chill go through her at the red-head's daring - or suicidal? - plan.   
  
"It's about time we hunters chalked up an Old One's death for ourselves." Crystal settled back in her chair with a satisfied air, as if the deed was already done.   
  
"Crystal, we can't kill the Old One. They can't be killed. Only Elena has the ability to unmake them," Elsa said cautiously.  
  
A wry smile curved Crystal's lips. "Do you know that for a fact? Have you tried jabbing a wooden knife through his heart? Or decapitated him yourself and watched him continue to live?"  
  
Elsa didn't reply but her answer was plain on her face as well as Jason's. Well... no.  
  
"What if those are just lies Jerrick spun to keep us from going after the Old Ones ourselves?" Crystal demanded. "It would be just his style to mislead and manipulate us into doing what he wants. The point is, we don't know for sure that Old Ones aren't anything more than powerful and ancient vampires." Her expression hardened warningly. "Do we?" she challenged.  
  
Jason looked nonplussed, then his frown returned with a vengeance as he considered this possibility. Unwillingly, Elsa found herself turning it around in her mind as well. Sure, Jerrick seemed to know a lot, but what if? What if? He had shown more than once that he was expedient about anything else. So what if he had lied for his own purposes?  
  
Crystal watched their expressions ripple and shift, doubt and intrigue and skepticism and suspicion. "Have you actually told him that you're not interested?" she asked.   
  
Jason and Elsa both shook their heads. "Good. Call him tomorrow and tell him you've accepted his offer. Join that hunt. And when you get the chance, grab the Old One and bring him here." Crystal smiled in anticipation, not only in getting her hands on an Old One but also at getting back at Jerrick for his playing her for a fool.  
  
"What if the witch had been telling the truth?" Elsa asked, caution and good sense prevailing momentarily.  
  
"Well, then, we'll know for sure and return the Old One to him with no harm done," Crystal responded easily.   
  
"What if we can't control him? What if Jerrick puts him under some kind of restraint and has to keep it up all the time?" Elsa probed.  
  
Crystal's eyes narrowed, warning that her tolerance for questions was low. "That lame half-man is nothing but an arrogant witch. I can always find another," she snarled. "You just worry about getting the Old One here!"  
  
***  
  
"So I'll be going with Jerrick. To England to get the Old One," Eiran said.  
  
The quiet of evening and the setting sun found him seated with Elena on one of the few benches placed along the pathways. After the confrontation between the vampires and the hunters, Jerrick had taken the hunters off to the main lodge. Eiran had stayed behind, watching the vampires take the squabbling siblings back to their cabin. Elena, too, hung back as the Turned drifted off to their rooms or to seek their new brethren.   
  
Finding themselves alone, the pair had exchanged smiles of acknowledgement, then greetings. By unspoken mutual consent, they began walking aimlessly, exchanging slightly awkward comments as they tried to regain the easy camaraderie they had once shared. It took a while but eventually, words flowed and they caught up on each other's news.   
  
Now, Elena sat sideways on the bench, facing him with one leg curled in and tucked under her. She had her arm draped across the back of the bench, bent at the elbow and fist supporting her temple. "Why you?"  
  
Eiran shrugged deprecatingly. "Why not me?" he returned. "I've worked the longest and most closely with Jerrick, at the same time, I'm the ideal coordinator of the mixed team of Turned and hunters. I've worked with both."  
  
Elena pursed her lips. "Well, I guess when you put it that way..." she said wryly. "It does sound pretty logical."  
  
"Why did you think?" Eiran asked curiously.   
  
Now it was Elena who shrugged. "I guess I'm just a bit paranoid about Jerrick's motives for doing anything," she sighed. "I haven't spoken to you in a while, not since you left with the rest to look for vampires. It just felt like I was missing something somehow." She looked at him and smiled. "Silly, huh?"  
  
Eiran returned her smile but didn't comment. His eyes lifted to a point over her shoulder and he nodded slightly. Elena looked back to see who it was and smiled welcomingly at Stefan. "Hi," she said. She twisted a little, head no longer pressed against one hand and reached the other hand to take his and draw him onto the bench beside her.   
  
"I'd wondered where you'd disappeared off to once the fireworks ended," Stefan quipped. "Eiran," he greeted, "How are you?"  
  
"Well enough, thanks," the Turned replied and stood. "Sorry, I sort of abducted Elena, I guess," he smiled faintly.   
  
The blonde pretended outrage at that comment but Eiran only smiled a little wider. "I return her to your hands safely," he told Stefan. "I think Jerrick will have finished with Jason and Elsa by now. I'll go see how that talk went, if you'll excuse me."   
  
"What were the hunters doing here anyway?" Stefan asked, manner going serious. "Elsa might have seriously injured Samar, or even killed her, if Makoe hadn't intervened."  
  
Eiran bowed his head. "I rather doubt it would have come to that," he murmured before raising his voice and his face again to answer Stefan's question. "Jerrick called the hunters here. He's going to ask them to go with him to England."  
  
Eiran watched Stefan carefully as he said this and saw the faint line form on the vampire's brow. "Jerrick told us that _we_ would hunt the Old One. That's why the other vampires stayed." Elena seemed to come more alert and began to look suspicious.  
  
The ex-vampire nodded. "I know. Jerrick says that the vampires will get their turn, never fear. For now, he needs the hunters."  
  
Elena's bewitching eyes fastened on his face searchingly and Eiran felt his expression go mask-like in instinctive defensive. "Since when did you become Jerrick's mouthpiece?" she asked softly, with only a tinge of humor softening the question.  
  
Eiran smiled and didn't answer. He simply ducked his head in a pseudo-bow and walked down the path towards the main building.  
  
Stefan watched him go, then looked at Elena to find her doing the same. "Damn Jerrick," she said suddenly. "He's turning Eiran into a creature of shadows and secrets." She bit her lip, her eyes still on the faraway point where the Turned had disappeared.   
  
Stefan fought a stab of jealousy, reminding himself that Eiran had been a very good friend and confidant to Elena during that lonely and frightening month while he had been held prisoner.   
  
"He's hiding something from me, Stefan. Jerrick's got some kind of hold on him and is using him, I'm sure of it," she went on.  
  
The Italian vampire had no answer for her and after a while, merely said, "Eiran would probably agree with me that he can take care of himself, although he would doubtlessly appreciate your care."   
  
Elena shrugged. "I really do hope he's all right. He's been such a good friend and a help..." she trailed off  
  
Stefan nodded understandingly and slipped his arms around her. He commented lightly, "He seems quite devoted to you. Sets a great example."   
  
Her lapis eyes shifted to his face and brightened gratifyingly at him, although her expression reflected exasperation. "Stefan!" she chided.  
  
He raised his eyebrows although he rather thought his green eyes might hold a spark of laughter. "I only speak the truth! I think if I didn't treat you well, he would make me see the error of my ways right away."  
  
She made a sound of annoyance and scoffing and faced away, looking slightly uncomfortable. He tightened his hold on her in conciliation. "Well, I'll just have to make sure I don't give him any reason to, then, hm?" he murmured tenderly, leaning towards her.   
  
She turned her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye and her smile rivaled the sunset.   
  
***  
  
Samar wasn't spying. She just happened to be up in a tree, practicing the high way when she spotted Elena and Stefan walking back to the cabin. She froze and peered down at them, watching how they talked and laughed, the simple ease with which they kept pace, their interlocked fingers, the peaceful smiles on their faces.   
  
For the first time, she didn't want to hurl, watching a sugary sweet couple. In fact, she felt wistful for the same closeness and loving care that showed in every line of their face and body, the tone of every word they spoke.   
  
Her mind began dreamily conjuring images of her and Makoe...like that. For a handful of delicious moments, imagination bore her away. And then practicality reasserted itself and her rosy pictures shattered.   
  
She draped herself lengthwise on a branch, feeling the rough surface against her cheek. Samar and Makoe, walking through a forest at dusk, fingers and hearts entwined and laughter ringing out. That was so not happening.   
  
After the brush with Elsa and her fear had worn off, she had thrilled in being held by him, even in front of everyone - _especially_ in front of everyone. It was the first public demonstration of their relationship. And then Tristan had to come and ruin it all.   
  
Her older brother had blown up after the incident with the hunter; he called her rash and reckless, she asked why he hadn't _done_ something before Elsa had gotten her good, he said she was incompetent, she named him a useless bloodbag - and a leaky one at that! - and it went downhill from there.  
  
So she had stormed off to her room - and climbed out the window when she got too bored of staring at the same four walls and ceiling.   
  
She dangled arms and legs down the branch and brooded over how to further her burgeoning romance with Makoe. What she needed, she decided, was for them to _do_ something. Something fun, something social. The cold-blooded, thickheaded goon didn't seem about to ask her out, so she would just have to instigate an outing, herself. A group outing, to save some face.   
  
Her mind fell to planning where and when and how while simultaneously offering her images of being in Makoe's arms on a dimly lit dance floor, swaying to a lazy tune, with tiny pinpricks of light moving dreamily over the floor and the dancing couples. The more she thought about it, the better she felt.   
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* There are various pressure points in the human body. Applying particular amounts of force to different points create different effects. In this case, if Makoe had actually jabbed Elsa on that spot, it would have stopped the flow of blood to her brain, causing brain hemorrhage and death. There are others points that can immobilize someone, or heal, or cause pain, or give pleasure. 


	48. Chapter Forty Seven: Dancing

Summary: Elena remembers why she came back and her world comes crashing down. Now she must face the terrifying Originals, risking life and sanity in a desperate bid for Stefan and for her humanity!  
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 21 June 2003  
  
* Late again! In my defence, RL has been... eventful. To make up for it (I hope), this chapter is almost twice as long as previous chapters. FYI, an example of samba music is the ever fun and infectious 'Cuban Pete' (you know, The Mask, chic, chicky boom?). And for a taste of what rhumba is like, listen to Diana Krall's sultry 'The Look of Love' Thanks to Moreta for edits and comments!   
  
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~ Forty Seven ~   
  
"Stefan, there's something I've wanted to ask you."   
  
The vampire looked up with a faint smile and even that made Jacintha blush. Beneath the table, Elena's knee nudged his meaningfully and they exchanged quick glances. It was obvious that this new Turned was painfully infatuated with Stefan and it was hard not to notice. "Yes?" he asked.  
  
"Are...are you going to be Turned?" she blurted, flushing a deeper red. Conversation around the table died quite rapidly as the people around them stopped to listen to his answer.   
  
A bit self-consciously, he sipped his juice – it was all he was having and he was here mostly to keep Elena company while she ate and talked to the Turned. In the next room, the television was abruptly shut off. A glance in that direction showed the vampires all looking in his direction, Samar draped over the back of her armchair like an odd puppy.   
  
Everyone was still waiting for his answer and the silence was bordering on awkward now. Elena sat quietly beside him, letting him answer for himself.   
  
"Well, actually..." he began. "I..." The weight of gazes from vampires and Turned alike rested on him and he found it hard for the words to come out. Elena shot him an odd look, then twirled a strand of spaghetti around her fork.   
  
"I am."   
  
He smiled at Jacintha and nodded, then glanced at the vampires. "With the next batch, actually," he added. There was a cheer or two from the kitchen and many smiles. Conversation picked up after that, returning to normal. The lack of telepathic commentary at this news was a resounding silence, however.   
  
Stefan returned the smiles and nods, feeling like one might at one's first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. "Hi, I'm Stefan and I'm a vampire. I haven't drank blood in two days." Wincing a little at that mental image, he cupped Elena's elbow in one palm. "I'm going to talk to the rest. Will you be all right getting back to the cabin?" he asked.   
  
She shot him a sideways glance in reply. "As if you need to ask. Go on," she sent off, looking faintly concerned.   
  
He squeezed her elbow reassuringly and excused himself from the other diners. He stepped into the next room and raised his eyebrows at the vampires. In wordless agreement, they all rose and started back to their cabin. Tristan did need a tug on his sleeve from Samar and a pointed stare from Makoe before he got out of his chair, though.  
  
They drifted silently through the forest and only began the conversation when all were seated in the living area.   
  
"I intended to tell you all, but didn't know how to bring it up," Stefan opened when they all looked at him expectantly. "Do you have any problems with this?" Not that he would change his mind, but he'd at least like to hear if they were unhappy with his decision.  
  
"Well, I can't say it's unexpected, Stefan," Leon said quietly. "And that Turned that looks at you with puppy-dog eyes did put you in a bit of a spot," he added with customary dry humor. Stefan mock-scowled at Leon for laughing at his predicament but was relieved that the mild vampire didn't seem to have any objections to his choice.  
  
He looked at Makoe inquiringly. The shorter vampire merely shrugged. "It's your life, Salvatore," he said shortly then fixed his detached eyes on Stefan fully to emphasize his next words. "But humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us," he said bluntly.  
  
Stefan thought he saw Samar pale at this pronouncement but he couldn't be sure. Makoe's eyes caught his and he nodded. "I understand."  
  
"So you've chosen, have you? That's your final decision?" Tristan demanded belligerently.   
  
Stefan looked away from Makoe to meet the tall vampire's hazel eyes evenly. "Yes."   
  
Tristan's lips drew back in a sneer.   
  
::Tristan!:: Makoe snapped and Stefan saw Tristan suppress a wince.  
  
The hyperactive vampire didn't back down but turned his bared teeth on Makoe instead. Stefan watched the stare-down, suspecting that a private argument was going on as well. Finally, Tristan glared at Stefan. "Your loss," he growled.   
  
Uneasy silence fell and Stefan groped for words to fill it. He only found one question.   
  
"Do any of you wanted to be Turned as well?"  
  
* * *  
  
Elena chose that moment to return. Distracted by her arrival, Samar lost the chance to garner clues from the others' reactions to Stefan's graceless question. All five heads snapped towards the blonde standing just inside the threshold, the lingering tension in the room finding a common focus.   
  
Elena froze and looked at them warily. Seeing her expression, Stefan stood and went to her. "Hi," Samar heard him say softly, planting a quick kiss on the crown of her head – a gesture, Samar mused, meant to reassure. He tugged her to sit beside him, resuming his earlier seat.  
  
As they settled, Samar looked around, her mind turning back to that question. Her eyes came to rest on Makoe and lingered there. The cold vampire was as expressionless as ever; she could not tell what he was thinking at all. Tristan was also staring at Makoe, Samar noticed. Possibly having a private argument? Leon – Samar looked at the phlegmatic vampire and found him watching her with an odd expression of concern, as if he knew the unease in her mind.  
  
Makoe's earlier words to Stefan replayed in her mind. 'Humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us.'  
  
Did Makoe mean any of them, or just Stefan? Did that mean that if she chose to be Turned, she would lose the only family she had left? He must know that she's considering it, from their conversation in the woods the other night. Was this his way of warning her?   
  
Tristan's reaction had not been lost on her either. She wondered what her brother would say if she announced that she also wanted to be Turned. Would he sneer and turn his back on her as well?  
  
Outwardly, the silence reigned. Stefan's question hung in the air ominously, something no one wanted to broach but everyone – with the possible exception of Tristan – was thinking about. No one seemed to know what to say, even Elena, who sat stiff and rigid beside Stefan.  
  
Samar fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and shake it; she was so confused. About Makoe, about the decision to be Turned, about what she wanted. The more she thought about it, the more topsy-turvy everything seemed to become. She couldn't deal with this. Forcefully, she made herself think of other things.  
  
It was amazing what one's psyche came up with in times of need.  
  
"Look at all these gloomy faces!" Her exclamation made the others look at her and she pretended to survey them with a critical eye. "It's been nothing but angst and doom around here lately. And to think I used to want to tag along because I thought you were having fun!" she sniffed in disgust and shook her head. "Tsk! Let's go downtown tonight! Hit a few clubs, forget everything and just relax. Celebrate Elena's kicking Klaus' ass!" She grinned at the blonde, whose expression changed to surprise.  
  
Samar spied Tristan's doubtful look and she scowled at him warningly when he opened his mouth to protest. "If you say a word about me being too young...!"  
  
Her brother gave her an unimpressed snort then looked from her to Makoe and back. Sometimes, Tristan was more shrewd – or maybe just paranoid – than people gave him credit for. Like now. "Nah. I was just thinking that Makoe hasn't taken his little vampire hunter girlfriend out for that date he won yet."  
  
Samar held her breath as she watched the cold vampire fastened his eyes on her brother. He was silent for a moment and Samar waited for the explosion to come.  
  
"Good idea. I'll call her."  
  
Samar blinked. Did Makoe just say that he would call that... hunter – that human – to come out with them? When she, Samar, had proposed a night of fun? She couldn't believe her _ears_! Of all the nerve of the man!  
  
Leon looked worried and more worried.   
  
"Fine. Whatever. You boys run along. Go pick up your bimbo. Just stay out of our way." Samar rose and stalked off to the rooms, grabbing Elena's wrist on the way and almost hauling her along. "We girls have work to do."  
  
Samar nudged Elena into the room she shared with Stefan and disappeared into her own room, returning in short order with clothes and cosmetics bag. She banished Stefan from the room, barely giving him time to grab a change of clothes before shutting the door to the room and the external door of the adjoining bathroom.   
  
The next two hours were filled with arcane things girls before a night out. Bubble bath, manicure, hair treatment, skin-pampering cosmetics, facial mask, hair styling, make up... Elena was bewildered at first but quickly fell in with the program. The girls chatted lightly, giggling a little.   
  
This simple girlish fun was something Samar had not had in thirty years and she was surprised at how much she missed it. The relaxed her a little, taking the edge off the outrage/disappointment that Taura would be around this evening.  
  
At the end of two hours, Samar sat in front of the dresser and stared at the image it framed.   
  
Elena looked like a mermaid; her iridescent top was covered with scale-like sequins. The asymmetrical neckline left one shoulder bare and the hem echoed the tapering slant. Below that, she wore matching aquamarine pants that belled out slightly below the knees. Her straight gold hair fell around her shoulders with two locks at her temples that were braided and beaded. The lapis lazuli eyes were dark in contrast with the sparkling greenish eye makeup she used.   
  
Beside her, Samar felt like a shadow. The dress she wore was black, with black on black embroidery, and fit like a second skin. The hem hung two inches above her knees and a slit ran up one side to bare an expanse of thigh. High-heeled sandals that she had had to strap herself into gave her added height and made her legs look longer – the wonders of optical illusions. Elena had piled her hair up into a dizzying swirl of black and deep pink – it actually looked elegant, even a little exotic. Her make-up – also by Elena – was a combination of light and dark with silver undertones and kohl definitions.   
  
If Elena was a mermaid, Samar was a witch.   
  
The two girls looked at each other and exchanged smiles just as a knock sounded on the door. Samar quirked an eyebrow at it and smirked. Shaking her head in mock chiding, Elena went to answer it.   
  
Stefan stood there, looking gorgeous even in a simple white linen shirt left casually unbuttoned at the throat and grey pants. Samar saw his eyes widen and smile grow as he drank in the sight of the blonde beauty before him. He took her hand, bowed in a courtly fashion and kissed her knuckles.   
  
Samar's breath caught and she let out a wistful sigh, watching them. Elena laughed softly, stepping up to him and into his arms.   
  
"No sucking face – you'll ruin her makeup," Samar piped up, breaking their sappy mood. Stefan looked at her over Elena's shoulder and smiled. "You look very nice, Samar," he said politely.  
  
Elena turned her head to give her a dirty look for spoiling the moment, then her eyes shifted to a point beyond the threshold. "I think your escort's here," she said, a funny note in her voice. Stefan grinned ruefully, as if sharing a private joke.  
  
Someone moved into view.   
  
Samar's eyes traveled from black leather boots, to ultra-black jeans that did nothing to hide the smooth, hard muscles of the legs, up to the tight-fitting – and flattering – black t-shirt beneath a leather jacket – also black. She finally looked at the face, as Elena and Stefan quietly left them alone.   
  
The sleek locks of hair had been swept back save a few spiky bangs that fell over the forehead and temples of the coldly handsome face. Dark eyes swept her just as she had looked at him, but Makoe showed no expression, simple stood there and waited.  
  
Why, Samar thought with surprise. He looks a bit like Stefan.   
  
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone to pick Taura up," she said. She wished he'd show some reaction to her. But then, this was Makoe; what did you expect?  
  
He shrugged. "She says she'll meet us there instead." He held out a hand to her in invitation. "Shall we?"   
  
Samar couldn't help that her fingers shook a little as she slipped her hand into his. He must have noticed but didn't comment. The touch was not impersonal, however; his fingers interlaced themselves around hers and the grip was firm. Samar hid confusion and quietly followed him out.   
  
Leon got up when they appeared in the living room. _He_ brightened visibly and smiled in appreciation at Samar's transformation although his delight faltered at the sight of their joined hands. He was dressed in much the same way Stefan was, in a moss-green shirt and slacks. He nodded in greeting and acknowledgement. "The others are waiting," was all he said, turning to the garage.   
  
Makoe didn't release Samar until he handed her into passenger seat of the car (he held the door for her). Sitting in the familiar interior, waiting for him to come around the car and get in behind the wheel, the female vampire felt decidedly off balance. Makoe was acting as if they were on a date, yet had not tried to hide the fact that his _real_ date was meeting them at the club.   
  
Maybe she ought to just pretend nothing was out of the ordinary and that they were merely going out for a normal hunt. But how was she supposed to do that when her traitorous heart started speeding up and singing at every little thing he did, like holding her hand and opening the door for her, or even simply looking at her – even if there was no expression that she could read?  
  
He slipped into the driver's seat, the shush of leather on leather filling the air. The door shut and silence descended. Samar waited for him to start the car but he merely sat back for a moment.   
  
"You look beautiful."  
  
Samar's breath came sharply at that abrupt statement. She looked at him, wide eyed, with none of her usual asperity. "Thank you," she stammered and suddenly she was back among the trees with moonlight filtering through the leaves and a shadowy figure hovering over her.   
  
His expression softened, she could have sworn, but searching the lines of his face, she could find no real evidence of the change. He reached a hand out, deliberate and moving slowly as if daring her to pull away, and ran his cool knuckles lightly over one cheek. The feathery light touch made her shiver pleasantly.   
  
Then, without another word, he turned and started the car and they were off. And Samar was very, very confused.   
  
* * *  
  
She walked into the club – and gaped.   
  
_El Gato_ was a trendy, rousing Latin club, decorated with careless, rugged and flaring grace. The lights didn't strobe; they roved lazily over the room. The room didn't vibrate with sound; it swayed, instead.   
  
But what made Samar stare was the pair on the dance floor, whirling to racing salsa beat. Perhaps the floor had been packed with people but at the moment, everyone had moved back to give the couple room – and to watch in appreciation.   
  
Stefan looked incredibly sexy in his careless attire, his action smooth and effortless, yet each movement held poise, control, force. Elena was his complement; light and graceful, flowing motion that merely changed direction and form but never really stopped.   
  
Together, they were breathtaking.   
  
Tristan appeared beside her, brushing past with a muttered, "Showoff." Samar tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight long to see him thread his way to where a band of olive-skinned musicians were supplying the music. Then her eyes were drawn back to the pair and there they stayed until the song wound to a breathless end.   
  
Applause erupted from the watching crowd. Elena accepted the accolade with composed aplomb and Stefan looked surprisingly self-contained, as well, Samar noted.   
  
A touch on her elbow made her realize that she and Makoe were still standing a little way inside the club. He put a hand to her back, applying pressure to guide her forward. Shaking her head, she scanned the room and spotted Leon at a table. By the time she and Makoe reached it, Stefan and Elena were already seated, the latter looking only a little breathless.   
  
"Wow!" Samar said, plopping into the seat beside her. Makoe caught her eye before disappearing into the crowd and Samar felt a twinge of lost at his departure. Resolutely forcing her attention away, she looked at Elena.   
  
The blonde, from what Samar could tell in the uncertain light of the club, was glowing and looking faintly smug. Stefan looked rather pleased, himself. "Haven't done that in a while," he murmured. At Samar's incredulous look, he smiled slightly. "One doesn't live five centuries without picking up a thing or two," he explains, too low to be overheard by those around. Unless one is a vampire, of course.   
  
Leon, lounging easily in the overstuffed leather armchair on the other side of the little glass-and-chrome table, smirked teasingly at the Italian vampire. "It's not as difficult as it looks," he told Samar, who felt her expression twist in skepticism. Leon looked at Stefan for confirmation but the latter only shrugged. The easygoing vampire rolled his eyes as the beat of the music changed to a deep, rhythmic booming. "Ah," he said with some satisfaction and got up. To Samar's surprise, he held out a hand to her. "I'll prove it," he explained with a toothy smile. A trumpet broke into a lively riff just then.  
  
Determined to enjoy herself despite Makoe's hot-and-cold mixed signals, Samar smiled back, daring but a little uncertain. "All right." She let him pull her up and onto the dance floor where other couples were bobbing along with the even, lively rhythm.   
  
::This is called the samba,:: Leon explained, showing her the basic step-and-bob. Samar tried to imitate him and both ended up laughing as they bumped into each other or tromped on the other's toes. At least vampire reflexes – his and hers – kept Samar's toes from being mangled. As she got the hang of it, Leon showed her more moves and eventually, he spun her around, letting her find the steps instinctively. They still stumbled against each other from time to time, but that was only to be expected and both laughed over it.  
  
Samar grinned up at him in delight as the song ended, joining the appreciative cheers and applause of the other dancers. A new tune started up, mellow and soft. Some couples headed off the dance floor to cool off; others stepped into each other's arms.   
  
Samar glanced at Leon uncertainly, to which he raised inquiring eyebrows. ::This is a rhumba,:: he told her, holding out his hands in invitation. ::A lovers' dance.:: He smiled deprecatingly.   
  
_A lovers' dance._ Samar's mind instantly went to Makoe. As if conjured up by her thoughts, the dark vampire appeared beside them.   
  
"May I cut in?" he asked blandly, offering his hand in the customary gesture.   
  
Leon looked surprised, then his expression closed and he nodded. He melted among the other dancing couples but Samar barely noticed.   
  
"I don't-" she began uncertainly, looking at the gracefully moving couples around them. No way she could do _that_! Her words were cut off when Makoe slipped an arm around her waist and his fingers closed, firm and strong, pulling her close. His other hand cupped her fingers, fitting them correctly to his, palm to palm.   
  
::It's not difficult.:: His thought made her shiver, silky and strong, wrapping her and smothering her protests. She felt him then, deep in her mind, wordlessly joined with her, as he had been that night after the race, showing her the steps of the dance, teaching her how to move with him.  
  
She saw them together, in his mind, on the dance floor, moving in perfect unison with inhuman grace among the other dancers. She twisted, holding the provocative pose momentarily before spinning away from him and was tugged back to face him; they took two steps to the side and swayed almost sensuously together, bodies pressed close. He stepped back, hand sliding off her waist, as if leading her; she followed, only to come back into his arms and be whirled dizzyingly. He bent her over his arm and she let head fall back, baring her pale neck. A change in the grip of their joined hands and she executed a tight spin, coming back upright and pulled against him once again. The music was languid, sultry, drugging her although she was barely aware of it.   
  
Dazed, she looks up at him, to find his face shadowed. Oddly, his eyes were bright and watchful. His expression, as ever, told her nothing of what he was feeling and thinking.   
  
Mind closely entwined with his, she whispered, ::Makoe...don't you ever smile?::  
  
She felt his amusement; cool and smooth, washing over her, although her eyes told her that nothing changed save a slight flicker in his eyes. Might have been a trick of the light.   
  
::I'm sure I did, at some point,:: he returned.  
  
::I've never seen you smile,:: she admitted, suddenly, unreasoningly, wanting him to smile at her. Maybe it would show her beyond doubt that she meant something special to him.   
  
His next words chilled her, dispelling her hope, as if the cool tone actually touched her skin. ::What is there to smile about?::  
  
She roused from her dreamy haze, anger and embarrassment searing. Sparked to daring, she stepped right up to him. Ignoring the dance now, she rose up on tiptoe and pressed herself fully against him. Twining her arms around his neck, she whispered mentally, fiercely, ::How about this?:: and kissed him.   
  
She kissed him with everything she recalled from that night in the woods with him and everything she had been thinking about since then. Anger, confusion, longing, frustration and need were in the movement of her lips and her heart jumped, then soared as she felt him wrap his arms around her body and his mouth respond. _Yes!_  
  
The song had ended by the time they came apart and Samar was aware of some gawkers. She blushed, but lifted her chin and ignored them, fixing her attention on the exasperating, enigmatic vampire still crushing her to him. ::Well? What do you think?:: she demanded, a little breathless, studying him.   
  
::I think,:: he began solemnly, arms loosening. ::That your brother's going to come over here and beat me up any minute now.:: There was dry humor in that telepathy but that was all. He didn't seem as affected by their torrid kiss as she was and his expression remained unchanged.   
  
Not a hint of a smile curved those lips she had caressed so stormily.  
  
Stunned, crushed, Samar let him lead her back to their table. Tristan had returned and, indeed, he looked murderous. If looks could kill, Makoe would not have gotten across the room undead. There was a brief stare down between her brother and Makoe when they arrived at the table during which Samar noticed that their group had grown in the time she had been dancing.  
  
Taura had arrived and she looked no happier than Tristan.   
  
Samar felt herself bristling at the sight of the huntress. Her presence was an unpleasant reminder that tonight, Makoe was supposed to be 'dating' _her_, not Samar.   
  
Tension around the table, was, needless to say, high. It lessened marginally when Tristan abruptly got up and left without a word, but Samar caught Elena glancing from her to Makoe to Taura and back with wide, blue eyes. Even Leon looked edgy. Karen, who had arrived with Taura, apparently, had eyebrows that just wouldn't come down.   
  
Only Makoe seemed unaffected. "I'm glad you could make it," he said calmly. Did he sound amiable? Samar's heart sank further as he settled her into a chair and then seemed forget that she existed.  
  
She watched as he offered to get the human a drink and, when she declined, watched him ask her to dance, ever so gallantly. When Taura accepted, looking surprised but still disgruntled, she stared after them, not caring that the others were gazing at her with varying expressions of sympathy or pity or, in Karen's case, speculation. Her gaze didn't leave the dark vampire and his human 'date' as they stepped onto the dance floor and a lump formed in her throat as she watched him hold Taura in his arms and twirl her as he had so recently guided Samar herself.   
  
::Makoe...:: The faint, needy call slipped out before she could help herself.   
  
::Not now, Samar.:: His mental tone was completely unaffected.   
  
The lump in her throat thickened and she felt numb, as if she had just been dealt a stunning blow. The room faded to unreality, save the one couple on the dance floor. They turned and Samar gasped without realizing it.   
  
Makoe was smiling.  
  
::Why didn't you smile for me?:: The anguished question tore from her as she rose to her feet, every muscle tensed. Her fists were clenched at her sides.   
  
He never even looked in her direction, continuing to dance with Taura as if nothing had happened. ::Why should I?::  
  
Why? _Why?_ In answer, she threw at him all the images of them together, every kiss, every touch, every glance, every shared thought and feeling. ::What are these?:: she cried silently, hurling her telepathy across the room at him like a weapon.   
  
Makoe didn't even flinch at the force of her mental bolt. ::There is no reason, no meaning behind those, Samar,:: he replied unflappably, never even taking his eyes off Taura.   
  
:;You vile liar!::  
  
::Then tell me what I'm doing here on the dance floor with this hunter?::  
  
Samar was suffocating; she inhaled but could not breathe. _She didn't mean a single thing to him?_  
  
She vaguely heard Elena say something, as if from a long way off. Dumbly, she turned to them, seeing their questioning, worried looks. It only made it worse, drove it all home. This was true; this was happening.   
  
_No._ She had to get away from here, had to get away from _him_, from all her misguided hopes and foolish dreams. Choking, she stumbled blindly towards the exit.  
  
* * *  
  
"What's on your mind?"  
  
Taura glanced up sharply at the vampire she was dancing with. There were couples around them doing fancy steps to the salsa beat but she had opted for simple freeform dancing so they were both just moving with the music, although he was a skillful enough dancer to lead her in the occasional twirl or dip.  
  
He was incredibly handsome, she had to admit, with dark good looks and an enigmatic, untouchable air that drove some females absolutely wild.   
  
Her reluctant attraction did nothing to soothe her annoyance; if anything, it only aggravated it.   
  
"I was wondering why you bothered asking me here," she shot back with brutal honesty. "You were doing a fine job enjoying yourself without me." Was she jealous? Of course not!  
  
Well... maybe a tad.  
  
The vampire lifted an eyebrow urbanely. "Did you expect me to play the wallflower until you arrived?" he asked coolly, not at all contrite.   
  
_Yes._ "No," she snapped rudely. "My point is, you didn't need me around this evening."  
  
"You're the one who stipulated a group date," the dark vampire reminded her bluntly. "And a bet is a bet and a win should be claimed."   
  
"Oh, so this is a principle thing, is it?" This guy just kept saying the wrong things. Was there anything he _could_ say that would be the right thing? Taura rather doubted it.   
  
He gave her a piercing look, as if hearing her unspoken thoughts. Another annoying thing about vampires; the ability to read one's mind. "I could have staked for something else," he reminded blandly.   
  
"Then why didn't you?" Taura was not about to be easily appeased.  
  
"I thought a date might be...interesting. Educational." His tone was too casual. She looked at him suspiciously.   
  
He changed the subject then. "Have you ever been this close to a vampire before?" His tone lowered and she thought she saw a faint smile play over his lips.   
  
Was his tone flirtatious? Taura, slightly unnerved but hiding it, smiled with poisonous sweetness. "Lots of times. Just before staking them. "  
  
His smile grew at that even as he made a censorious sound. "I meant a live one, with no murderous intent on either side."  
  
Taura pretended to think it over, exaggeratedly taking a long time. "Hm...nope. I can say with certainty that I haven't." She looked up at him through her lashes. Was she flirting back at him?! Absolutely not!  
  
But he wasn't looking at her. Swiveling her head to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw the female vampire he had been – ahem – dancing with earlier dash through the club entrance, head bowed.   
  
Taura turned suspicious blue eyes back at his rapt, alert face. They had stopped dancing, their steps faltering and then dying altogether. Her features slowly set into a stony, ominous expression. "You're playing me," she accused in a low voice.   
  
Dark, unfathomable eyes set in an impassive face turned back to her, their previous animation replaced with his usual emotionless mask. He didn't deny her accusation, simply looked at her. Her expression hardened further and she wrenched herself out of his arms furiously. Enraged at him for his trick, angry at herself for being played for a fool. "What am I, your substitute? If you want her, go and get her," she flung at him and stalked away, leaving him standing on the dance floor alone.   
  
One or two nearby couples paused to look and exchange comments. "This guy... two girls...kiss..."  
  
"We're leaving," Taura snapped unceremoniously to Karen. The blonde took one look at her friend's face and got up wordlessly. Taura threw a blazing gaze at Elena, and then swept over Stefan unseeing. Her face set in a taut mask, cut a direct line to the door.  
  
She had no reason to stay.  
  
* * *  
  
He found her huddled against the side of his car.   
  
::Samar,:: he said gently, bending to touch her shoulder. He wasn't surprised to find it trembling and he could feel the force of sobs held within her petite frame. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her face tucked down and unseen.  
  
She didn't respond to his touch; neither shying away not opening to it. Tentatively, he sat down beside her, leaning against the door of his car on the far side from the club. Her clothes – and his – may not stand such mistreatment, but at that moment, he didn't care. He put a careful hand around her shoulders, comforting and supportive.   
  
::There now...:: he said awkwardly. ::Is there anything I can do?::  
  
Still no response.   
  
He dared to tighten his hand, pulling her closer and wrapped his other arm around her as well, hugging her protectively. ::Samar,:: he said again. ::I'm sorry.::  
  
It took a while, but at last, she slumped fully against him. Her shaking increased and a muffled sound escaped her and she turned into him, hiding her face in his shirt. A torrent of words and stinging, sharp emotions unleashed with her tears. Incapacitating hurt and scalding anger, betrayal that stung like a whip and scalding self-mockery. Beneath it all, a sense of being lost. Her world had been uprooted and overturned; it felt like she did not know up from down and light from dark anymore.  
  
::It's not _you_ who should be sorry; it's _him_!:: she raged. ::And me!::   
  
Leon sighed and only held her; there was nothing else he could do. But her pain hurt him and within his mind, he fought his own demons. If only... Too late... Maybe...  
  
Her shoulders, her entire body spasmed with each sob and Leon winced in sympathy. The doubt he had harbored ever since the night of the race blossomed into a glowing ember of anger. Each heave of the petite shoulders, each gasping sob fanned it, made it grow. The more he thought about it, the brighter his fury flamed. What was Makoe thinking, toying with Samar like that? In all the years the hunt had stayed together, never had the dark-haired vampire given any indication of romantic inclinations towards Samar. And given what had just occurred, he didn't have feelings for her at all. What was he doing? After a while, Leon stopped asking the questions and just clung to anger. Whatever his reasons, Makoe had hurt Samar and badly. It was uncalled for and the emotionless vampire would pay.  
  
Leon would see to it.  
  
Suddenly, it was as if he was looking through someone else's eyes. The door of the club opened, spilling light and sound onto the pavement. A figure stood silhouetted and framed in the threshold. Leon was startled but a quick probe told him who it was. It didn't explain the odd sense of being 'taken over' but the usually mild-mannered vampire was beyond caring at this moment.   
  
Samar continued to be lost in her private hell and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. And maybe it was.   
  
::I would speak with you.:: Simple words, the phrasing a little archaic as Leon slipped back to the vernacular he grew up with, but the blazing anger behind them needed no adornment. Through their odd shared senses, Leon knew when the dark eyes moved to the point where Leon was huddled with Samar, as if Makoe could look through night, and metal and leather, and see them. He knew when Makoe nodded once, not seeming at all surprised.   
  
::I'm taking her home. I'll see you in the woods in two hours,:: Leon went on, recovering himself.  
  
::Four. The night is young yet,:: Makoe countered nonchalantly and Leon had to suppress the urge to do him bodily harm. Mental amusement flooded his mind. ::You'll get your chance. Later,:: the cold voice assured him as Makoe released the door and disappeared back into the club.   
  
Leon waited until Makoe was gone, then waited some more for Samar's sobs to subside to stillness.   
  
* * *  
  
It wasn't difficult to locate Makoe. The vampire's presence was like a shuttered lantern; he could choose to announce his location and no one would mistake the beacon of his mind. Or, if he did not wish to be found, he would not be.   
  
More; the vampire had demonstrated before that his shields were selective as well, and could be tuned to whomever he wished so that some may see him while others did not.   
  
Tonight, he did not hide from Leon. The seething, cold flame drew the angry, gaunt vampire through the woods. Up ahead was an odd pool of light, garishly bright and most certainly artificial. An odd thudding came at intervals.   
  
The usually phlegmatic vampire came upon the odd scene and stopped.   
  
Makoe was standing on an expanse of concrete with lines drawn upon it. On each end of the oblong, hoops were mounted on steel posts: a basketball court. Spotlights shone down mercilessly, illuminating every inch of the area.   
  
The dark vampire casually threw the ball in his hands, every move relaxed, almost negligent. The black spangled ball sailed unerringly and fell through the hoop without touching the rim. Somehow, it bounced back at an angle and returned to Makoe's hands as if pulled by a string.  
  
::Care for some on- on-one?::   
  
Bemused, Leon merely shook his head. Makoe was still clad in the casual, tight black t-shirt and dark-gray slacks he had worn to the club; his jacket was stark against the concrete near the steel post. He didn't appear to be exerting himself in the least.   
  
::You wanted to talk?:: the cold vampire prompted, shooting another flawless three-pointer.   
  
::Samar,:: was all Leon got out before he became at a lost for words.   
  
::You comforted her well, I trust?::  
  
Leon could not believe the casual tone Makoe took and it sparked his protective anger all over again. ::What game are you playing, Aodhan?::  
  
::Nothing, anymore,:: was the unruffled, cryptic reply.   
  
Frustrated at the brush off, Leon stepped onto the court. He batted the ball aside on its return flight to Makoe's waiting hands and stood in front of the other vampire. Although he was physically taller than the other, they somehow ended up looking each other in the eye.   
  
Leon's face felt like a mask; he guessed that it was set in a stubborn, grim expression. ::You hurt her. Why are you playing with her feelings?:: he sent the question lancing straight at other, daring him to give a indifferent answer; trying, by force of will, to drag the truth out of him.   
  
Makoe looked as impassive as ever. ::What do you care, Morris?:: he threw back.   
  
Taken aback by the question, Leon temporized. ::You hurt her for no reason that I can see. The hunt does not do that to each other. And she's only a young girl who had the bad sense to fall in love with you. She did not deserve to have her feelings crushed like that.::  
  
::Firstly, Leon, you should be careful about calling hunt-bond into things.:: He left that obscure remark at that and went on, "Secondly, I think you and I both know that a few tears will not break her. She has to grow up sooner or later.::  
  
Leon looked at him, stiff-lipped, unable to reply, unwilling to back down.  
  
Unsettlingly, Makoe looked amused. ::If you want truth from me, you had better be ready to give in kind. Brother.:: The amusement vanished and the question was heavy and implacable as he repeated it, ::What do you care?::  
  
Silence. Nerves stretched to breaking point. Leon's heart speeded up and pounded in his ears. His breath caught; his mouth felt like paper. Makoe was forcing his hand, calling his bluff. He _knew_ but was forcing Leon to admit it all the same.   
  
Feeling oddly removed from himself, Leon said quietly, for the first time, ::I love her.:: Fear crashed on him as he put into words the emotion he had kept hidden deep within for so long.   
  
Not a muscle changed on his face, but Leon had a sense of satisfaction from the dark vampire. ::I know. It's actually not so hard to see. Even Salvatore noticed.:: Leon's breath hitched again. ::And that is the why I did what I did.::  
  
The easy, casual words made Leon blink. What? ::You hurt her feelings because I love her?:: he repeated, incredulous. Betrayal began creeping up his spine, chilling and burning him at the same time.   
  
Without warning, his mind was snagged and images, impressions went by in a blur. Leon was helpless and could watch the story that unfolded in a daze. Makoe realized what lay behind the fatherly affection Leon showed Samar. He also realized how Tristan would react to anyone beginning a relationship with his sister and how Samar herself was oblivious to romantic love. And so Makoe had set himself up as trailbreaker. 'Better me than you' he had said that night when he and Samar had returned. He had been referring to Tristan's antagonism, then.   
  
As suddenly as he had been ensnared, he was released and nearly stumbled backwards. He cupped one hand against his head, then shook to clear the sense of displacement. Brown eyes raised to meet impassive black ones.   
  
::You broke her heart, cruelly, deliberately; that's supposed to help _me_ win her?:: he demanded. Leon straightened and crossed his arms. ::Forgive me if I don't quite believe all that. Brother.:: He nearly spat out that last bitterly. ::Even you could not be so misguided.::  
  
The forgotten basketball made its presence felt, impacting Leon hard. It flew off into the darkness, then returned like Halley's comet, flying obediently into Makoe's fingers. The stunned expression on Leon's face must have amused Makoe for the mental voice came as close to laughing as it ever did, ::Haven't you ever heard the term 'on the rebound'?::  
  
The basketball hit the backboard, and then danced on the rim of the hoop before falling neatly through it. Leon, eyeing it over his shoulder, stepped out of the way as it returned to Makoe like metal to lodestone.   
  
::I do _not_ want to start a relationship with Samar, catching her on the rebound,:: he said emphatically.   
  
Makoe shot and shrugged in the space of time during which his hands were empty. ::Whatever. Samar was only falling deeper and I had to kill her infatuation as quickly as possible.:: Holding the basketball, Makoe turned slightly and his tone was icy as he said, ::I'll not allow a female to think herself in love with me.::  
  
Leon was stunned at the depth of intensity in that sentiment. ::Why?!:: he blurted.  
  
He only got silence as deep and dark as the space between stars as a reply. Makoe started his rhythmic shooting of hoops again.  
  
Leon frowned and began to say something else but Makoe beat him to it. ::So. Do you still want to beat the unliving daylights out of me?:: Again, that near-humor.   
  
::Don't tempt me,:: Leon mock-growled, thinking of Samar shaking beneath his hands and the turmoil in her mind, recalling his own answering anguish. They both knew how unlikely it was for Leon to actually try and attack Makoe; he would not get very far unless Makoe stood there and _let_ himself be thrashed. Understanding Makoe's motives didn't make the situation any more pleasant, but at least it took the edge of his animosity. ::You treated her badly, Makoe.::  
  
::It was the only way, Leon. She'll get over it. And if she doesn't, if she ends up hating me,:: a mental shrug, ::I'll survive.::  
  
Leon wondered at Makoe's isolation, his way of letting nothing touch him. Oh, he might become annoyed or irritated, but nothing truly upset his inner balance. He never seemed to care about anything enough for that to happen.   
  
::There is something else.::  
  
The solemnity in that caught Leon unprepared. ::Yes?::  
  
::This Turning business.::  
  
Leon inhaled sharply. ::Yes?:: he said again.  
  
::I think Tristan made it quite clear what he thinks of it. I also know Samar is thinking seriously about it. What about you?:: Makoe asked bluntly, the tempo of shoot, rebound, catch and shoot never faltering.  
  
::I am, also,:: Leon said cautiously. Was this what he meant with that remark about the hunt. If he and Samar decided to be Turned, there was, essentially, no hunt left. Leon could not see Tristan and Makoe staying together on their own. In some odd way, Leon and Samar held the group together.   
  
Makoe nodded. ::After what was said to Salvatore, perhaps it would be good if you spoke to Samar. I think she might be hesitant to say she wishes to be human again for fear of losing her place in the group. If you both Turn...::   
  
A rather ideal situation and one that made Leon's eyes widen in wonder. He studied it for a while, looking at it from all angles. Yes, a most desirable arrangement.   
  
Coming back to the present, Leon glanced at the cold vampire. ::And you?::  
  
::I choose to remain a vampire.:: The answer was clipped and unhesitating; a firm decision obviously already made.   
  
Leon nodded, not particularly surprised at this. He understood Samar's indecision all too well; neither of them had chosen to become vampires. Circumstances had stolen that choice from them. A sudden question struck Leon, one he had never thought to ask.   
  
::How did you become a vampire?::  
  
Again, that heavy silence. The ball flew into Makoe's hands and did not leave this time and the dark vampire was as still as any statue of bronze or concrete.   
  
As he waited for an answer, pieces began falling into place, an incomplete puzzle, and suspicions began niggling at him. ::Does your breaking with Samar have anything to do with the fact that she might want to be Turned and you do not?:: he asked.  
  
Still no reply. Leon stepped back in front of Makoe. ::We know nothing about you. Not that it mattered. But as a hunt, you know about our pasts and you are still a mystery to us. Did you choose to become a vampire? When were you made?::   
  
Other questions began pouring out; why he was so Powerful and – if the negligent manipulation of the basketball was any indication – what other abilities did he have that they didn't know about?  
  
Makoe's ebon eyes finally focused on Leon's face. One dark eyebrow raised faintly. ::You want to know?:: he asked as mildly as Leon could. Slightly unnerved, Leon nodded.  
  
The dark eyes seem to glitter, becoming piercingly intense. ::I'll tell you. But there's a price. You'll have to do one thing I ask.::  
  
The natural response to that was, of course, ::What?::  
  
But instead of answering, Makoe raised an eyebrow. ::You'll find out. Do you still want to know?::  
  
Leon narrowed his eyes at his hunt-mate, scrutinizing him. ::Yes,:: he said finally.   
  
::Your word on it, then. My past for the performance of one task,:: Makoe stipulated clearly, tone cold.  
  
One corner of Leon's lips jerked up. ::Your story had better be worth it.:: But he nodded agreement to Makoe's words.  
  
::Done then!:: The ball leapt the dark vampire's hands, coming to life and settling as a spinning orb on the tip of his index finger. Leon's eyes were drawn to that motion momentarily – and captured. The black, spangled ball became a gray blur. Images whirled past his mental eye again, telling a wordless tale. His questions were answered, and the sense he got was that of a brief explanation that only hinted at a deeper, more intricate story in the background.   
  
Aodhan was descended from a royal family; in a time when Druids had walked free, he had been a prince among his people. There had been an outlander criminal... a slave. He intrigued the prince with his quiet yet unservile manner, his fearlessness. It was as if he did not fear death, as if he chose to be in his lowly position, as if the joke was on his masters.   
  
He had been a vampire.   
  
Captivated with his Power, the prince had asked to be changed too, that he might share in that Power. And so...  
  
Again, Leon came back to the present with a jolt. The basketball stopped spinning and Makoe began dribbling it casually, rhythmically. ::And so...:: the dark vampire trailed off and shrugged.   
  
Leon stared at him, trying to adjust to his new knowledge. Makoe was a prince born. He had chosen his vampirism. He was over two _thousand_ years old.  
  
And now he raced cars illegally?  
  
::Have you ever regretted your choice?:: he asked finally.  
  
The basketball was being dribbled idly from one hand to another, front and back, side to side. ::There have been moments, to be sure,:: was the cool reply. ::But I don't hang on to them, so what does it matter?::  
  
Leon drew a deep breath. ::That's true.:: He lapsed into silence, trying to assimilate the information and wrap his mind around it. It explained a few things about the cold vampire, but also brought up many new questions.  
  
::About your task,:: Makoe interrupted his thoughts. Leon came alert, focusing back on the other vampire. Makoe took his eyes off the bouncing ball, then caught it. As the echoes faded into the night-hushed forest, he told Leon. It was simple.  
  
::Tell Samar.::  
  
Leon's mind blanked momentarily. Two simple words that held absolutely no meaning for him in the space of a split second. Then Makoe's intent came into razor-sharp focus and Leon blanched. ::You can't be serious!::  
  
::Can't I?:: Leon might have sworn he was amused, if the taller vampire had been paying attention to such things. ::Tell her how you feel, Leon. When the next Old One is dealt with,:: he specified.   
  
::No!:: Leon protested violently. ::I will not force that knowledge on her. What good would it do?:: he demanded heatedly.  
  
Makoe was unmoved. ::You're afraid she'll reject you. You think that by telling her, you will jeopardize your current relationship with her,:: he said, calling Leon's bluff. ::By not telling her, you are not protecting her, you're robbing her of a choice. As for what good it will do...:: he trailed off, inviting Leon to figure it out himself.  
  
Leon's expression turned stubborn. ::I won't have my feelings color her reactions or make her think she has to reciprocate. If she feels anything for me, I will know and she will recognize my emotions as well. Until then, I will do _nothing_.::  
  
::Many people do not know their own hearts very well,:: Makoe commented casually, then eyed Leon coolly. ::So you're reneging on your word?:: There was nothing binding Leon to their agreement but then, they both knew – now – that Makoe needed none.  
  
The usually laid-back vampire tensed, not going down without a fight.   
  
Makoe's telepathy slid past his shields and sounded silkily in his mind, despite the cold impatience in the tone, ::I wouldn't normally meddle with anyone's love life, but time is ticking away, Morris.:: The mind-speech unraveled into thought and images. In essence, Makoe showed him Samar's dilemma about Turning and vampirism. She had to decide soon, before Elena completed her task, or she would lose her chance. And her choice should not be hampered by her fear of being abandoned. Leon must tell her how he feels, and that he is also considering being Turned, so that she will know that she will not be abandoned should she choose humanity.   
  
When Makoe released Leon's mind, the brown-haired vampire looked...resigned. ::I'll tell her.:: Just saying the words gave him pangs of panic.   
  
Makoe nodded once, never showing any expression. He tucked the basketball under his arm and started off towards the cabin, apparently closing and dismissing the discussion. Leon wordlessly followed. Along the way, he had time to consider the conversation and began staring at the back of Makoe's head as if trying to see into his thoughts.   
  
Why was the dark vampire so concerned about Samar?  
  
* * *  
  
The room was pitch black, save the pyramid of light under the single, low-hung lamp. Within that wedge of light, a plain, wooden chair stood on cold concrete.   
  
Sam Conard was led to that chair and unceremoniously plunked into it. The two well-dressed thugs who had brought him there melted into the shadows although their presence continued to weigh on Sam's mind.   
  
A small sound just beyond the circle of light and the toe of a polished leather shoe appeared, looking oddly disembodied although Sam knew the man wearing the shoe would have bright red hair like the pelt of a fox and lazy eyes the color of amber in sunlight. The mental image brought shivers down his back.  
  
"Mr. Conard," the cultured voice began patiently. "You have been given many opportunities to repay your debt to this company and have failed to do so on every occasion." Another minute shift in posture and the sound of well-oiled springs as an expensive chair reclined. "Tell me. What are we do to with you?" the clinically polite voice invited.  
  
"Look," Sam spat. "I already told you, I'm trying to get you your money. But it don't come easy. You'll have to give me more time."   
  
"Time?" A subliminal chuckle. "I bought your wife some time, didn't I, with that money?"  
  
Sam snarled but didn't reply. After a moment, the unseen man spoke again.  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr. Conard, that your time is up. We've given you sufficient leeway and you've not lived up to your end of the bargain. We cannot let that stand. It's bad for business, nothing personal. I'm sure you understand," the man said with impersonal, fake regret.   
  
Sam sneered. "Marge is dead! Your money didn't buy her nothing, in the end. You think you're scaring me? There's nothing you can do to me. Killing me would be a mercy!" A bitter laugh tore from his throat.  
  
The chair straightened abruptly with a subliminal creak and the leather shoes came further into the light, attached to impeccably cut grey trousers. The sight of the half-shadowed face tight with anger killed Sam's laughter and his hackles went up.   
  
The face smoothed back into its customary urbane mask. The blaze in the tiger-eyes dimmed to the uncanny shade of amber in shadow and the sensuous lips smiled.   
  
"Is that so?" the man asked silkily.   
  
Hands slid into the trousers' pockets, pushing back the matching grey coat and clearly showed the fine linen shirt and tasteful pinstripe tie was held in place with a silver tie-pin. "Well, then, perhaps we can oblige you."  
  
_They're going to kill me._ The thought gripped Sam with absolute certainty. The sudden, looming possibility of that froze him without thought or emotion. He could only stare at the red-haired man in front of him.  
  
The way the man's golden eyes swept over him – as if examining a horse he thought of buying –sent more involuntary shivers down Sam's back. Some had called Emson McModrey the devil himself but Sam had been desperate for the loan in hopes that the best care would help his beloved wife overcome cancer. He hadn't listened to anyone's warning then, but they came back to haunt him now.   
  
"A pity. You may have proved useful," McModrey commented eyeing him coolly and Sam swore he saw himself caught and reflected behind those uncanny yellow orbs.   
  
"But. We may have another use for you," McModrey said, suddenly brisk, and Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. His next words dispelled any relief Sam felt in that brief moment.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Conard. We may get our pound of flesh from you, yet," McModrey said. The phrasing made Sam shiver uncontrollably. _Some things may be worse than death._ The words came into his head like a message.  
  
"Are you cold?" the clipped, cultured voice asked courteously.   
  
Sam jolted upright. "N-not at all." He must show no weakness! he thought desperately.  
  
McModrey snapped his fingers with disapproving impatience. "Oh, come, come, man, no stuttering and fidgeting. It's very unbecoming."  
  
Abruptly, Sam felt his entire body go numb and leaden. He could blink and draw breath, but that was all.   
  
"Now then, let us begin." McModrey stepped fully into the light and his hair shone like flame. His face was sculpted to an angelic purity but the expression in his eyes was twisted. "First, let's get you warmed up."  
  
He didn't do anything. Sam was sure he didn't do anything. But suddenly the chair he was sitting on was on fire. Sam couldn't move but he could _feel_ the flames licking at his clothes and then his flesh. He couldn't scream but he could inhale and the fumes and the smell of burning skin and hair caught in his throat.   
  
With burning, tearing eyes, he looked at Emson McModrey, who stood just inside the circle of light, hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets and watched without any sign of being affected by the man in the chair burning alive.   
  
"Didn't anyone ever tell you, Sam? Some things are worse than death," McModrey said and smiled pleasantly, revealing elongated, razor-sharp canines.   
  
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* Thoughts? Comments? Review! 


	49. Chapter Forty Eight: Hard Truths

Summary: Elena remembers why she came back and her world comes crashing down. Now she must face the terrifying Originals, risking life and sanity in a desperate bid for Stefan and for her humanity!  
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 9 July 2003  
  
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~ Forty Eight ~   
  
There was something about watching a group of peaceable people making ready to embark on a grim battle...  
  
Turned were, for the most part, people who had been changed against their will, victims of cruel jokes, unwilling vampires. At least, Elena tried to make sure this was the case; any who wished to remain vampires would not be Turned against their will, if she had any say in it.   
  
Which she did.   
  
So to watch these peaceful individuals learn to fight and defend themselves, to help them prepare for their 'mission'...   
  
It made her heart weigh heavily in her.   
  
The room wasn't as crowded as it might have been; some of the Turned had already left earlier in the week to begin their search. This evening was when the remaining teams would leave, the largest, final deployment of the searchers.   
  
Stefan was chatting amiably with a couple of their students as they packed provisions for the trip. The new Turned were paired up with their more experienced brethren, to minimize the risk to the individual and give the young ones a chance to learn.  
  
One of the older Turned was handing out assignments, a map spread out in front of him detailing where each pair would search. There was an air of tension in the room, but not the grim, resigned desperation that had once reigned.   
  
Their numbers were not so small now, and this, coupled with the experience of the first questers, reduced their risks significantly.   
  
May-Ling was on more than one mind this evening, Elena guessed. The face of the timid girl, who had not returned from her search, was certainly in Elena's own thoughts at this moment.   
  
Elena barely noticed when Eiran quietly entered the room; he was as unobtrusive as ever. In twos and threes, the ex-vampires settled into waiting silence as they completed their preparations. Elena rose to bid each a safe and successful journey. She had come to know them in the lessoning and in sharing small, simple moments during meals and television. Much to her relief, they didn't treat her like some minor deity, although there was no doubting their respect and esteem.   
  
Looking up from one pair, Elena's gaze caught on Eiran's odd expression. It was a look of... disbelief and... displeasure? Elena wondered at the cause of that and followed the direction of his gaze. Stefan was sending another team on their way. What was so odd about that? It took her a moment to notice how the groups seemed to gravitate in Stefan's direction, even those on the other side of the room. It wasn't obvious at first, but a closer look showed the teams stepping up to have a word with Stefan, then moving to her, and then heading out the door.   
  
Oh.   
  
Elena smiled as a team of three – all girls – came up to her. "Yes," she answered them automatically. "You watch out for each other, huh? And Grae, take care of them," she added to the older Turned. They all grinned at her and passed through the door and Elena looked back around the room again.   
  
Yes, it seemed to be turning into a stream of searchers, flowing from the Italian vampire to the human girl who had changed them. Leaving out the one who had been the de facto Turned leader from the beginning.   
  
Oh, it wasn't a conscious spurning, which almost made it worse. It just showed how much Eiran's influence with the Turned had waned. Somehow, the ex-vampires had started looking to Stefan for leadership. Perhaps it was his relationship with her. Or the fact that they knew he would soon be one of them. Or simply that Eiran had not been spending as much time around his fellows, preoccupied as he had been of late with Jerrick's work.   
  
Stefan was unaware of the tension and Elena's attention was torn between watching Eiran worriedly and sending each team off properly, knowing that there was a chance – and even the slightest possibility sobered her – that she would not see some of them again.   
  
It was after one such heartfelt send-off that she looked up to find Eiran, the very first Turned, her good and faithful friend, gone.   
  
* * *  
  
Jerrick sat quietly beneath moon and leaves.   
  
It was a peaceful night, balmy late summer breezes mixing with cooler hints of autumn. Neither heat nor chill seemed to faze the frail-looking man. He tipped back his head, breathing deeply. As self-effacing as he was, he seemed to lose all identity in the dark-shrouded wood.   
  
Jerrick released his breath slowly, sinking his awareness into the solitude of the night, even as he pulled the ambient energy into himself, renewing himself, replenishing exhausted wellsprings of Power.   
  
His gift – and his curse – this tie to the forces of nature.   
  
A face floated before his mind's eye, a woman with pearly skin and dark hair, and eyes of vivid green. A name: Channa.   
  
It had all started with her, the stormy, stubborn female he had singled out one evening, never knowing who she was. Funny how a random choice could change one's existence. Jerrick rather thought it was more than mere coincidence. Not with the way things had worked out.   
  
A comedy of mishaps. Thinking back on them now gave Jerrick the most uncharacteristic urge to laugh and sob at once. He should have checked; if he had only looked, he would have seen what she was and steered clear. But he had not and she had retaliated to his attack by binding them together in soul – or the equivalent for all intents and purposes.   
  
What had begun with hate and ferocious conflict had ended with love and lost. And the end had been long in coming; his gifts had prolonged her life, even as hers had brought him to new awareness of his nemesis.   
  
Perhaps, when the end finally came, their bond had snapped her Powers into him in the moment her spirit fled her ravaged body.   
  
Perhaps the inrush of Power had driven him a little mad.   
  
The thought tickled him. What did he care if he was insane? His chin tipped back down and his eyes opened. How long has it been? A decade. Ten years since she'd died and pain had become his constant companion. It felt like so much longer. A small eternity of agony before he had found a way to end it. And now, with four of the seven beings the humans called Old Ones unmade, he was close. Soon, the pain would end.   
  
It felt good.   
  
* * *  
  
Leon stood outside the door and hesitated.   
  
His hand rose, wrist drawing back to knock, then paused. After a moment, he let it drop to his side silently and turned away for the fifth time. He was about to retreat into his own room again, when, behind him, the knob turned, checking his movement.   
  
Samar did not say anything, but just stood there and gazed at him. She looked... Leon's heart squeezed painfully; it hurt to see her like that, so forlorn and broken. It was not the careless ponytail or the shapeless – comfortable and comforting, he was sure – cable-knit sweater and denims she wore, or her bare feet. It was the lack of expression in her face, the loss of fire in her eyes, the slackness of her limbs.   
  
He moved forward, without thinking, hands reaching to pull her into his arms and comfort her all over again.   
  
Thankfully, he didn't get the chance. She turned around and went back into the room, misunderstanding his advance, assuming that he was going to come in – finally. It seemed she had been aware of his previous aborted attempts to intrude upon her solitude.   
  
It's just as well she walked away, Leon thought, feeling a moment of panic as he realized what he had been about to do.   
  
Leave her alone, a voice hissed insistently. Another objected; look at her; she needs you now. Another offered a different point; if you're going to tell her about your feelings, you'd better start preparing her for it. And you can start by spending more time with her.   
  
Yeah, well, these all-wise voices didn't have quaking fingers and knees, or an accelerated heartbeat, to deal with.   
  
Still, Leon stepped through the threshold, closed the door quietly behind him and looked around for a seat. Unfortunately, the only chair in the room was no longer functional. When – and how – had she done that? Leon wondered, amazement and an odd kind of appreciation replaced quickly by sorrow as he remembered the hurt that had fueled such destruction. The dresser was too cluttered to be used as a perch, a fact that rather surprised him. He had imagined dramatic, enraged sweeps of hands to break the various jars and bottles on the table.  
  
That left the bed, where currently sprawled a girl whose laughter made his heart leap in delight, whose fiery, indomitable spirit had long since won his respect, whose biting, irreverent humor amused even as it exasperated him, whose rages brought out answering calm in him, whose pain hurt him twice over.   
  
Yes, this was love.   
  
But he had been considering seating options. There was the bed... and the floor.  
  
Leon settled carefully on the carpet beside her bed, leaning his back against it and wincing as he sat on something. Pulling out the offending object, he eyed one of the lethal heels she had been wearing that fateful night. After a moment of contemplation, he shoved it further under the bed, where its twin no doubt cowered for fear of its existence.   
  
The room was still for a long time before Samar stirred.   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
The question was muffled and it didn't sound particularly interested. Leon leaned his head back, so that it was flat on the bed, and didn't answer her right away. He was still looking for words when the bed jounced with movement and Samar's face floated above his, upside down and with loose tendrils of black, maroon-streaked hair falling around them both.   
  
"Leon?"   
  
The vampire had the most unsettling urge to... kiss her. Worse, flashes of her in his arms – on that bed – began invading his mind. If he had been the suspicious type, he would have searched for signs of Makoe's manipulations.   
  
Shadowed hazel eyes continued to regard him flatly. "_I'm_ the one who's supposed to maintain despondent silences here," she prompted when he didn't respond, impatience and bitterness in her tone.   
  
"I'm s–"   
  
"Don't you dare," she warned tonelessly, even that hint of edged humor disappearing. She moved, flopping back onto the bed, head not far from his. He knew because he could feel the ends of her ponytail fanning out on the bedspread, draping over his head.   
  
"Tell me you didn't come here to express your pity," she mumbled after another intermittent silence.   
  
"Not pity. Sympathy."  
  
"Hah," she snorted caustically and Leon suppressed a flash of hurt.   
  
"Concern?" he tried. She didn't reply for a long time. Finally, Leon felt a tremor on the bed and twisted around in surprise. Her face was turned away from him but he could see her shoulders shake.   
  
::Samar?:: A hand reached out to smooth her dark locks soothingly, which only seemed to aggravate her tears.   
  
Feebly, blindly, she slipped off the bed and onto the floor beside him and, like a hurt child, crawled into his arms. Her tears slid down silently now, wetting his shirt again but he wouldn't have released her for all the shirts in the world.   
  
::You're so good to me, Leon. It kills me that he isn't, it just drives a stake through my undead heart.:: Her telepathy was odd, a combination of weakness and flashing sharpness. ::But at least someone cares. I'm not so unlovely and pathetic that no one can bear to be near me, huh? At least I have you.::  
  
Leon swallowed, but continued to hold her comfortingly. ::Yes, Samar. You'll always have me,:: he agreed softly. ::And I'll not have you degrading yourself like that. It's not you, it's him; you're wonderful. If he can't appreciate that, it's his loss,:: he told her, uncharacteristically fierce. _And someone else's fortune?_  
  
She didn't seem to hear his other words. Or she dismissed them. She raised her head to look at him. That she didn't hide her splotched face and red-rimmed eyes was a mark of trust. Or that she didn't care how he saw her?  
  
::Will I always have you?:: she asked searchingly and his heart gave an alarming skip of a beat.   
  
Leon stared at her. An inane voice repeated over and over in the back of his head that there was still time; he had until when the next Old One was unmade to tell her.   
  
Notnownotnownotnow...  
  
This was going too fast, things happening faster than he had planned or imagined or dreamed, rushing out of his control towards something that scared him like nothing else in his two hundred years of existence.   
  
::Samar...::  
  
::Will I?:: she pushed intently.  
  
Had he slipped, given himself away? Leon wondered wildly. She knew... she _knew_. How could she know?  
  
She was sitting up, hands pressing on his chest to raise herself, almost face to face with him, his slouched position undoing his height advantage. Her chin tipped down, and she looked piercingly at him through her lashes. His hands were blissful, lovingly cradling her slight form and Leon had to squelch another almost overpowering urge to kiss her.  
  
::Samar...::  
  
::Damn it, Leon, I know my own name. Just answer the question; will I or will I not?::  
  
::Have me?::  
  
Now. Now. Nownownownow...  
  
::I...I guess that would be up to you to decide.::  
  
She continued to stare at him for a long, endless minute, then pushed away from him, sitting back and not touching him. He didn't stop her.   
  
"What is this?" she breathed.   
  
Leon shook his head and looked away. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this now," he muttered. The sinking feeling in his stomach told him this was going to end badly.  
  
"No, let's," she snapped the retort whip crack fast, and angry tears stood out in her eyes. ::_He_ tried to put me off too, when I asked him questions... that night.::  
  
Helplessly, Leon reached a hand to her, and then let it fall. He shook his head again. "Samar, this isn't the right time. You're not ready for this."  
  
"For what? What are you trying so hard not to say, Leon?" she demanded.   
  
Leon sighed. ::If you still need to ask...:: He felt her go still and rose to his feet abruptly. "I've said too much already."  
  
"Oh no, you don't!" Galvanized back into motion, she grabbed his hand as he passed her and pulled him back onto the ground. When he refused to budge, she clamped her other hand around his wrist and yanked harder. "Damn it, Leon, don't you dare leave me like this!" Another wrench that threatened to pop his wrist out of its socket. "Talk to me."  
  
A look of surprise flashed on her face when he complied. By force of will, he smoothed his tone to its customary mildness and his manner was almost brisk.   
  
"All right. Let's talk. About Turning."  
  
The subject also took her aback, apparently. Her fingers fell away from his hand and she stared at him warily.  
  
"What about it?"  
  
He met her eyes, hoping his expression was as calm as his voice. "Nothing much. Just that, you're not the only one considering it. So don't hesitate in taking your chance, if it is what you really want for yourself."  
  
The obvious question flashed in her eyes and he nodded. "I'm also seriously thinking it over. If you choose to become human again... you needn't worry about being left alone."  
  
Samar wasn't dumb. She put two and two together and came up with the most logical answer. Leon couldn't bear to see sorrow in her eyes – and he was sure it would be there when she realized how he felt – and looked away. And so he missed the uncertainty in her expression. She wanted to know why... she needed confirmation.   
  
But Leon didn't see. "That's all," he said and left.   
  
Alone in her room once more, Samar sat in the middle of the floor for a long time, lost in thought. Finally, she straightened and spoke into the silence.   
  
"Yeah right."   
  
* * *  
  
From the fifty-eighth floor of the glittering glass-fronted building, the man known as Emson McModrey stood gazing out at the sprawling metropolis below him. There came a curt rap on the door, followed almost immediately by the appearance of strikingly good-looking blonde vampire.   
  
"We lost the contract," he said vehemently without preamble after the door had thudded shut.  
  
McModrey turned away from his contemplation of the city and settled back in his luxurious leather chair. He raised an eyebrow. "How did that happen?" he asked curtly.  
  
"Terrence's wife flirted with the chairman, and his daughter seduced the nephew," Colin, the blonde, speculated glibly, although they both knew that neither charge was likely to be true. Colin threw himself into the chair opposite Emson. "We undercut Terry at every turn and offered a better deal, all in all. Heck, we were barely making any money on that contract and still we lost to the bastard. I haven't a clue how that happened." His hands rose and fell in a gesture of exasperation before he dragged his fingers through the glossy waves of his hair. Eyes the color of the ocean stared at his boss for a long moment. "Now what do we do?"  
  
"Terrence Cromwell is legitimate," Emson corrected urbanely, "Although the sentiment is seconded." Colin snorted. "As for what our next course of action is," Emson continued, ignoring the scoffing noise. "We'll just have to play our trump card."   
  
"What trump card?" Colin growled, looking dejectedly up at Emson from beneath a charming forelock. Even disgruntled and sprawled casually in a chair, Colin St. James looked like a model for the quintessential successful young corporate executive.  
  
The red-haired man did not reply directly but pulled out a thin folder and nudged it across the desk. The blonde picked it up and thumbed it open. The contents – photographs and detailed reports of activities – made his eyebrows hike higher and higher, almost disappearing into his hairline. Eyes wide with wonder rose to fasten on Emson's blandly satisfied face.  
  
"I don't think Lord Cromwell will want his indiscretions made known to the public. It would be so damaging to his political standing, not to mention what a scandal would do to his family name." A smile curved Emson's lips, one Colin had seen on many occasions and might recognized well; that of a hunter toying with his prey. "The contract for the Waterford telecommunications center really isn't very much to ask in exchange for our silence, now, is it?"  
  
Shortly after the blonde left to carry out his instructions, the telephone rang, a discreet buzzing.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Miss Gallagher on line one, Mr. McModrey," his secretary's voice sounded tinny.  
  
"Put her through."  
  
The next voice to sound was smooth, a purring contralto. "Emson."  
  
"Janet. This is a pleasant surprise." His tone matched hers; smooth, slightly amused with seduction underlying it. "What can I do for you, my dear?"  
  
"Oh, I just called to see if we were still having dinner tonight."  
  
"Of course. Gladys has already made reservations. I'll pick you up at half past seven," he said, barely glancing at his schedule.  
  
"Perfect, darling. See you then," the svelte voice said and then she hung up without waiting for a reply. The man she called Emson chuckled at that treatment. Being young, powerful, rich and good-looking – and single – tended to draw a lot of female attention to him. But Janet Gallagher, darkly exotic and mysterious, intelligent and very, very successful, was a match for him in all those respects. Her marked lack of pandering was also refreshing to one who had long since lost patience with mindless adoration. The two of them were so alike in personality that it was uncanny.  
  
There's a born vampire inside that human skin, he thought, toying with a heavy fountain pen. Maybe I'll change her and keep her for a century and see if she improves with time, he mused. And if she doesn't accept – well, the Old One would see if she tasted as exotic as she looked.   
  
Turning that mildly intriguing thought in his mind, Emson left his office, nodding absent acknowledgement to his secretary's bidding him a good evening. The elevator descended at dizzying speeds but the man felt no discomfort, thanks to the superb design that gave little sense of displacement, and before he knew it, the doors were swishing open with a rush of air as the shaft depressurized.   
  
He was not so immersed in his thoughts, however, that he didn't sense the pair of vampire hunters lurking near his car the instant he stepped out of the elevator. It wasn't the first time this had happened – although his minions paid heavily after each, rare occurrence – and the man never knew how they got past the state-of-the-art security system installed in the private parking lot beneath the skyscraper – not to mention the minions – but he supposed that the old adage about there being a way where there was a will was true when it came to hunters.  
  
Not that it mattered. He could have set them both on fire with a thought but where was the amusement in that? He feigned ignorance, moving towards his car with casual, confident strides. His polished shoes beat a measured tempo on the asphalt, like the deliberate strikes of a tribal drum. Let's see what you're made of, humans.  
  
They approached him from opposite sides, thinking to sandwich him and cut off any escape he might attempt. Two steps from his metallic-grey Volvo, he stopped and fastened his unnerving golden eyes on each of them in turn. They were almost exactly on either side of him – a powerfully-built, handsome woman and a Pan-like man – and his look made them halt in their tracks and tense to attack   
  
The woman stood closer. Both held guns aimed at him. Wood-tipped bullets no doubt. And silencers. I'm impressed, he thought sarcastically.   
  
With an almost negligent gesture, he sent the man hurling backwards, feeding raw Power into the very air to heat it. The force of the sudden energization was enough to fling the hunter away. The man hit the concrete pillar behind him with an audible grunt and a solid-sounding thud.   
  
Emson turned to the female, a charming smile forming on his lips. "Good evening," he said with incongruous courtesy.  
  
She shot him.   
  
The bullet was indeed wood-tipped and went through his stomach. A most unpleasant way to die. If he could die.   
  
Removing the blasted thing might prove annoying and it was quite possible that Emson would be late picking Janet up at this rate, but no real harm had been done. However, it was time to extract a like price for the hunter's efforts.   
  
The gun suddenly became searing metal in her hands and she dropped it with a hiss. Then the huntress actually began to stalk up to him, pulling out a pair of knives – probably dipped in wood resin, if his experience and nose were accurate. A spunky one.   
  
Behind him, the Old One caught the sound of her partner stirring. Well, you know what they say; three's a crowd.  
  
Emson let the woman come within ten paces of him, then without warning, a ring of flame leapt up, eight feet in height, enclosing them both. The woman stared but recovered with laudable speed and fixed her attention on him grimly.   
  
The man in the tailored business suit nodded. He was unarmed – but then, he didn't need any physical weapons.   
  
She circled, moving in a closing spiral, coming ever closer. Emson didn't turn with her, merely waited for her to strike as the flames licked at the ceiling.   
  
Naturally, she struck from behind, thinking to come upon him unprepared. Emson used the same trick on her that he had her partner, but the woman was surprisingly quick for her built and dodged the exploding air. The movement put her to his right and she didn't hesitate but continued the interrupted strike on him, hoping that he was overextended and vulnerable.   
  
Simultaneously, over the whuffling roar of the flames, the red-haired man caught a foreign, sound, a whistling not in key with the other sounds around him. He turned and a crossbow bolt embedded itself below his left collarbone. The force rocked him back a half-step, sending him blundering into the huntress coming at him – and into her knives.   
  
They slashed and pain blazed down his back, deep into his spine and across the backs of his knees.   
  
Even as he fell, Emson whirled and grasped her shoulder. His fingers squeezed, crushing bone, and one of her knives clattered on the asphalt dully. She screamed, but not from the broken bone; the cry was wrenched from her as she found herself engulfed in flame. From within.   
  
Her screams rang out, echoing and reechoing in the poor acoustics of the parking lot. Her flaming form pranced around in mindless circles within the ring of flame that enclosed them. He crouched on the ground, still as a statue, waiting for the pain to subside, waiting for the wounds to close and heal. The blooded crossbow bolt now lay clenched in the fist pressed against the grainy ground while the other hand covered the wound.   
  
With a bit of satisfaction, he watched as her movements slowed, then stilled, her cries dimmed to silence and she was reduced to a smoldering heap on the ground. You got in a good lick, but you paid for it, he told her silently.  
  
Without warning the wall of flame collapsed, more suddenly and completely than if it had been doused with water.   
  
_What?_  
  
Emson's head jerked up. There was another whisper of sound as a second bolt flew through the air but the Old One was prepared this time and impatient. The projectile burned to dust in midair, never to reach its target.   
  
But what had damped his flame-field?  
  
The air was smoky, but not as smoky as it might have been had the fire been fueled by organic matter rather than raw Power. Still, the figures that suddenly appeared now were shadowy, indistinct.  
  
_Shields._   
  
The presence of these others had been shielded; he had not sensed them. And...they threw up a force-shield around him now. Emson could feel the efforts of a handful of them, merging to form the barrier he fought. Had _they_ killed his ring of fire?   
  
In pain, flung off balance, he did not resist the attack as effortlessly as he usually would. He reached out, tested the new group of attackers. Witches. His golden eyes narrowed. When had witches ever been any match for him? He would smash their upstart wills and minds to slivers!  
  
He rallied, drawing in his Power, shrouding himself as he would a cloak.  
  
The third crossbow bolt caught him in the chest. Perfectly-shaped lips drew back in an unpleasant snarl, feeling his indrawn Power escape like air from a balloon whose neck was released. The hand pressed to his abdomen rose to grasp the bolt; the wound would not close unless the weapon was removed.  
  
It was then that Power snaked out and coiled around him, smothering his divided attention, just like it had his flames.  
  
* * *  
  
The red-haired man in the suit slumped to the ground and all was still for a moment, tension hanging in the air with the smoke and as slow to dissipate. Then, Jason broke into movement, dashing forward. "_Elsa!_"  
  
There wasn't even a body for him to cradle, just an irregular line of ashes on the ground. The archer stared at it in, stunned, for a long time before lifting his gaze to the man who limped forward.   
  
Jerrick did not seem to notice either him or the heartbreaking patch of ash as he touched the inert form of the Old One on the ground. He sighed. "I've bound his consciousness in a loop. He will remain this way for a few hours," he said quietly, addressing the witches who drew closer at his words. "You'll have to take turns monitoring him. As soon as he begins to rouse, call for me," he instructed and the pale blue eyes were unfocused, abstract. "The periods of oblivion will shorten. We have no time to waste," he warned, straightening. He turned away, leaving more capable bodies the task of picking up and carrying away the insensible Old One.   
  
Jason jumped to his feet in shock and outrage. "That's it?" he demanded.  
  
Jerrick paused and half-looked back. "You may gather up Elsa's ashes, if you wish. There is nothing much else we can do for her, is there?" he asked calmly.  
  
Jason did not answer, merely stood there with fists clenched at his sides and glared. Jerrick faced him fully, patently waiting to hear him out. Around them, the witches and few Turned who had come with them quietly did whatever was necessary and left. One gathered the ashes of the female fighter as best he could and slid it into a plastic cup, murmuring that he would find a more suitable container later.  
  
In the end, the archer stood alone with the lame witch. Jason trembled with pent up emotion. "She gave her life for this mission and you don't even acknowledge her sacrifice?" the austere, normally curt man snarled. So what if he and Elsa had always argued? She had been colleague and fellow hunter.   
  
"She knew the risks of this trip; they are the same as any other hunting trip you make, except multiplied in proportion to the prize," Jerrick reminded. His chin lifted slightly. "What did you think, Jason? That it would be easy catching an Old One? If it had been, where would be the thrill and the challenge in this hunt I offered you?" he flung back.  
  
Jason's expression did not clear, still twisted from the disgust and contempt he felt for the man before him.   
  
"Your weapon of choice is the bow. You stand and hit your opponents from afar," Jerrick continued. "Elsa fights hand to hand. She gets right up close to her enemy and that opens her to injury. She's always known that. That is her choice." The tousled red head canted to one side. "Is it really me you're angry at? Or do I sense a bit of guilt here, Jason Carollin? Are you ashamed that she died and you got off so easily?"  
  
The words hit home. Not close; they hit dead center. The hunter stiffened defensively. With nothing else to say, he snapped. "She was better than either of us."  
  
Jerrick shrugged, turning away. "That may well be.   
  
"But in the end, does it matter?"  
  
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* Please take a moment to share your thoughts with me. I do treasure hearing from you! 


	50. Chapter Forty Nine: Pursuit

Summary: Elena remembers why she came back and her world comes crashing down. Now she must face the terrifying Originals, risking life and sanity in a desperate bid for Stefan and for her humanity!  
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 29 November 2003  
  
* Rated for mild violence. See reviews section for author's ramble.  
  
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~ Forty Nine ~   
  
He had thought that if he put some distance between them, his feelings for her would fade with time. He had thought that keeping himself busy with the tasks assigned to him would distract him dwelling on her. He had thought that watching how well they fit together, she and her vampire beaux, would lay his restless longing to rest.  
  
He had been so wrong.   
  
::So Eiran Blake, what are you going to do about it?:: he found himself asking as the plane broke through the clouds and turned in its approach to the airstrip. Prominent Seattle landmarks could be made out from this height, if just barely.  
  
::Just hold on a bit longer,:: his mind supplied, tired-sounding but logical. ::After the task is done, she will leave and you will never see her again. And then you can get on with rebuilding your life.::  
  
::Or...you could try fighting for her?:: Eiran's head lifted sharply. ::Ridiculous!::  
  
::Not so. We all know who treats her better. It's certainly not that self-centered, self-hating vampire.::   
  
::She loves Stefan. Always have, always will. He's the reason she agreed to take on this task. How can I compete with that?::   
  
::He's also the one who got her killed in the first place. You've heard the full story. Are you going to stand by and let him keep causing her hurt after pain? Oh, sure, it's not likely that either of them will get murdered again after this, but you know very well that there are things worse than death.::   
  
The thought of Elena suffering jerked Eiran up short.  
  
::Besides,:: the voice of reason and persuasion continued, ::You know that she does care for you. She's even attracted to you.::   
  
An image of her face, that night he had comforted her in Antalya, flashed vividly in his mind's eye.   
  
::If Stefan had stayed out of the picture a little longer... who know what might have been? And what you both would have shared might be greater than what she has with him.::  
  
And suddenly, other voices, all his own, chimed in.  
  
::All that might be needed is a chance...::  
  
::If you try, you may lose Elena. But then, you will anyway, if you don't try. Then again, if you try, you might win her.::   
  
::What have you got to lose?::  
  
::This is madness!:: he exclaimed inwardly. Nothing of his private struggle shows on the outside, save the hardened intensity of his unseeing gaze out the jet's viewport.   
  
Yet, the seed of thought, once planted, was not so easily killed...  
  
When the plane finally taxied to a halt, it was almost a relief to turn his mind to more practical matters. He rose with the rest of the task force, picking up luggage and heading for the exits. His eyes fell on the still figure seated alone near the back of the passenger compartment.   
  
Eiran reached out and touched Jerrick's sleeve as the latter passed. The witch looked exhausted and with good reason; he had been single-handedly keeping the Old One unconscious - had been the only one who could. The red-haired man looked frailer than ever.   
  
"Jerrick, I'm concerned about Jason," Eiran confided in a low voice.   
  
The other regarded him calmly, then shifted his gaze to where the vampire hunter was slouched in his seat, as if immune to the activity around him.   
  
Jerrick turned back to Eiran. "What is on your mind?"  
  
"He's soured on the mission. That's dangerous. He might...cause trouble," Eiran said vaguely. The sentiment was there, if the explanation was not very concise.   
  
Jerrick appeared to consider this for a moment then nodded once. "Let me go talk to him."   
  
Eiran did not look reassured but accepted that when Jerrick touched his arm in return briefly before moving on. The Turned spared the limping figure and his brooding destination another glance before going about his own tasks - and returning to his own ruminations.   
  
* * *  
  
"May I sit down?"   
  
The fist on the armrest didn't clench, but the muscles of that arm did tighten at the sound of that voice. Jason barely flicked a glance up when Jerrick stopped in the aisle beside him. "If I said no, would you go away?" he asked rhetorically. "Besides, it's your plane."  
  
Which was technically true, since Jerrick had chartered the jet from England. The task force had flown on regular transit from Seattle to New York and then to London on the Concorde and a short hop to Birmingham.  
  
On the return journey, however, with Emson McModrey in custody, commercial flight had not been an option. Jerrick had directed them to a deserted airstrip where the jet waited to take them to Seattle. It was not as fast as the Concorde, but it was more direct and certainly more discreet. No one had argued at the need for stealth.   
  
Still, it had made Jason rethink some basic assumptions he had made of this entire fight against the Old Ones. He had assumed that it had been Crystal financing the effort, with Jerrick supplying the knowledge to effectively combat the immortals.   
  
But the jet had certainly not come from Crystal. Nor the sprawling estate from which the Turned operated now, come to think of it. It had all been arranged smoothly, with no sign of a new benefactor. Was Jerrick financially capable of carrying these operations out, then? He had often mentioned operatives that no one ever saw or heard. It pointed to vast resources.   
  
So, if Jerrick had not allied with Crystal for her money, why had he done so in the first place? The question - and the lack of an answer to it - made Jason acutely uncomfortable. Which did nothing for his temper.   
  
His eyes shifted to rest on the limp, senseless figure who was being lifted by two well-built Turned. Three witches stood nearby, continuously monitoring the unconscious Old One for signs of waking. The last estimate was that he would not wake for another two hours, but they were taking no chances.   
  
Jason turned his eyes away from the activity there, reluctantly looking at the frail-looking, cold-blooded, arrogant son of a bitch in front of him.   
  
"Was there something you wanted?" he asked, bluntly. He would have to get moving soon. Timing, timing...  
  
With Elsa gone, it would be all up to him now.  
  
Jerrick regarded him with deceptive placidity. "To talk."   
  
By now the plane was empty, save the two of them. Jason folded his arms and got to his feet. "There's nothing for us to talk about," he snapped.   
  
"Oh, but I think there is." Something in that calm statement made Jason pause in the act of stalking off. Almost unwillingly, he slanted a look over his shoulder to find Jerrick smiling faintly, eyes trained out the window. "What you have planned is really going to cause a lot of… trouble. For everyone. I would suggest you abandon that idea."   
  
Jason stepped back and leaned down, putting himself intimidatingly close the witch. "And what is it you think I'm planning, Jerrick?" The name came out nastily.   
  
"Hijack the Old One and go running back to Crystal."  
  
Jason stilled. It was the stillness of a predator gathering itself to pounce as it calculated the movement with eyes steady on its prey.   
  
The redhead turned to meet his eyes, unflinching despite the close proximity of their faces. "With Elsa gone, it must be so much harder on you to pull off that agenda, isn't it, Jason?" Jerrick went on, apparently unfazed.   
  
Bringing up the dead huntress sparked the archer's anger anew. "Is that why you didn't mind that she died?" he hissed back before he could stop himself.   
  
"No, of course not." The witch's tone was not exactly gentle, but it was soft, if a little absent. Then it strengthened. "But I do think you should forget about taking the Old One from us. After all, how can it succeed if we know what you already plan?"  
  
Jason felt fury roar up, cold and hot at once, paralyzing him. After a moment, he found his voice. "You're bluffing. No one else knows, otherwise, they would have acted suspicious!" he scoffed.  
  
"Would you take that chance?" Again, unruffled, utter calm. Somehow, it only incited the archer to greater anger. His hand slipped to his side.   
  
"Yes, you bastard. If it will stink up your plans, I'm willing to gamble." Light reflected off the gleaming barrel that appeared between them suddenly. "And to better my odds, let's create a little distraction."   
  
In the quiet of the deserted cabin, the shot sounded shockingly loud.   
  
The witch bent in half in his seat as Jason stepped back, his hand falling to his side. A dark patch began to spread rapidly on the lame man's back.   
  
"You have no idea how good that felt," Jason said in parting. His abrupt departure caused him to miss the sight of Jerrick smiling, through his pain, in satisfaction.   
  
As he strode across the asphalt, three of the Turned were running back to the plane, no doubt having heard the gunshot. He angled himself away from them, heading to the car with the Old One inside it. _They_ were focused only on reaching Jerrick, though one wavered between heading him off and ensuring Jerrick's safety.   
  
Jason reached the Old One unchallenged. Without hesitation, he struck all three attending witches in quick succession. Leaving the crumpled bodies on the ground, unconscious, but breathing, he slid behind the wheel and floored the accelerator.   
  
One handed, he reached for his cell-phone and hit the speed-dial.   
  
"Yes," the velvet voice on the other end answered on the first ring.   
  
"Got him. Be prepared for fire," he said tersely.   
  
There was a pause. "Right. Backup waiting for you as planned. I'll put them on alert."  
  
He hung up with a curt sound of acknowledgement.   
  
A glance in the rear view mirror showed the rest of the task force scrambling to give chase. So the witch had been bluffing, after all.   
  
The archer glanced at the empty passenger seat beside him, where Elsa should have been. Another look in the rear view showed the Old One, still senseless and swaying helplessly with the car's motion.   
  
After that, he focused his attention on the road and on staying ahead of the cavalcade on his tail.   
  
Finally, the designated intersection loomed ahead. Jason barely tapped the brake pedal as he rounded the corner and gunned for the rendezvous point.   
  
They were waiting there for him. As soon as he passed them, four cars drove off the shoulder of the all-but-deserted street, effectively blocking the cars that were bearing down on him.   
  
Jason didn't hesitate: he kept right on going, though he eased the car back into speed limit once he had put some distance between himself and the impromptu roadblock.   
  
They knew where he was going, so he had to choose a careful route back and still keep from being ambushed at the entrance to the Baron place.  
  
Fortunately, the driveway was clear and he was admitted with alacrity. As he pulled up in front of the mansion, the front door opened. He tensed.  
  
"Jason?" the petite figure in the doorway called disbelieving. Taura's brow furrowed and she stepped up to the car as he got out. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea of what's going on? Where's Elsa?" she asked, rapid fire.   
  
She noticed the other figure in the car then, and stopped.   
  
"Either help me or shut up and go away," he replied shortly, flinging open the backdoor and reaching for the Old One.   
  
"What's going on?" Taura asked again but she did step forward to lend a hand. "Crystal's suddenly called the lieutenants for a meeting - in the basement." Unfortunately, her height proved a disadvantage and he had to manage on his own.  
  
"Basement, huh?" Jason muttered, half grunting as he kicked the car door shut and hauled the inert body of the red-haired man into the hallway. Emson McModrey was as tall as Jason himself and of broader build. He didn't know how much longer before the Old One woke up and he intended to work as quickly as possible to avoid taking any chances.   
  
He didn't answer her question of where Elsa was, though it burned in his mind.   
  
Incongruously, Crystal had gathered the hunters around the indoor pool. She herself was lounging carelessly in the Jacuzzi, which was built into a raised platform.   
  
Vivid green eyes rested appraisingly on him as he appeared in the room and heads turned to follow her stare. A hush fell over the gathering.  
  
"Where is Elsa?" the vampire leader broke the silence.  
  
That damned question again. "She's dead," he answered flatly, his hammered tone doing nothing to hide his fury. He thought he heard Taura draw a sharp breath behind him. The stillness grew profound.   
  
"I trust it was worth it?" Crystal asked.   
  
Jason's lips twisted and he stepped further into the room. A path cleared for him wordlessly. The archer dropped the limp body in front of the Jacuzzi.   
  
"An Old One," he said shortly, with a graceless wave of a hand.   
  
She leaned over the edge of the platform to peer down at the man on the floor, then sat back with a touch of satisfaction. She glanced to the side, signal enough that a pair of hunters came forward, lifted the Old One onto a chair and shackled him in place. They then picked up the chained immortal and proceeded to position place him in the middle of the indoor pool.   
  
Jason turned away from the sight to notice an unfamiliar man standing at the base of the steps leading to the Jacuzzi. The cut of his grey-green suit looked faintly military.   
  
"This is Austin," Crystal said, noting his attention. Jason looked up to catch her cat-like smile. "He's a witch of some repute, I've been told." She turned her attention back to the Old One, a slight frown touching her features.  
  
"He hasn't woken up. Is he knocked out so badly?" she asked.  
  
"Nope. He's under a spell."  
  
"Ah. Well, then, Austin, would you..." Crystal trailed off and her pet witch looked at her attentively. "No, on second thought, let's see for ourselves what an _Old One_ is like. Mac," she nodded and a hunter with flax-like hair stepped forward. She simply tipped her chin towards the Old One and the young man half-bowed. Stripping off his t-shirt, he waded to the middle of the pool in boxers.  
  
He held a bamboo blade in one hand.   
  
* * *  
  
It would be over soon.   
  
Elena idly twirled a lock of hair around a finger as she stared out the window. The rest of her golden mane spilled down her back, almost touching the seat of her chair.   
  
Jerrick would be returning soon with the fifth Old One. It will not take long to deal with the last two. By the Winter Solstice, it will be done and she will be free.   
  
A stir at the entrance drew her attention.  
  
"I guess I've got to get used to being only human again," a voice came, wry and clear. A new Turned, Bernard, came into view with an irate healer in attendance. The ex-vampire's left arm rested in a sling. A second Turned hovered nearby, painfully apologetic.   
  
"Oh, I'll be fine, Macey. That'll teach me to block with my bare hand," Bernard flashed a smile at the concerned faces, then he caught sight of Elena and his expression canted from jovial to respectful.   
  
Elena inclined her head in acknowledgement. The once-queen of Robert E. Lee could still put on royal airs, it seemed, she thought with amusement. A small gesture beckoned him over to her. When he got within reach, she laid a hand lightly on the cast-clad arm. For just a moment, she had the disorienting urge to heal it. But then, she didn't have that ability anymore.  
  
"Take better care of yourself, Bernard," she admonished, lightly but meaningfully, as she took her hand away.  
  
"Yes, ma'am!" To his credit, he didn't try and salute before he wandered off.   
  
Elena watched him go then looked up with a smile as Stefan took the seat beside hers.   
  
"What were you thinking that made you look so serious a moment ago?" he asked.  
  
She hesitated. "Bernard, getting hurt like that," she said truthfully. Stefan waited for her to elaborate and finally, she sighed. "The downsides of being a human; we're frail compared to vampires."   
  
"If you're thinking to try and dissuade me, Elena, don't bother. I was human once upon a time and, as I recall, it wasn't all that hazardous an undertaking," Stefan remarked dryly. He took her hand and squeezed reassuringly.   
  
She tried to smile but worry still lingered in her eyes. He leaned in to brush a kiss on her temple. "Trust me and my strength of will. All will be well," he murmured. The warmth of his breath made her shiver and she turned her face to his-  
  
"Elena!"  
  
They jerked apart and Elena momentarily wanted to strangle whoever it was who had interrupted them. Suffocating someone would be a useful diversion to keep people from noticing her flaming face.   
  
"Elena, Jerrick's back and... he's hurt!"  
  
The blonde surged out of her chair in instinctive alarm, then her eyes narrowed and she calmed to grim purpose. Brisk but not hurried, she went to meet the returning party, guided by the sound of frantic activity.   
  
People made way for her until she found herself in front of Jerrick. Eiran stood supporting him at one shoulder and nodded to him briefly, aware of Stefan's presence at her own side. Then cold lapis eyes went to the crusted bloodstain covering a good part of the redhead's abdomen.   
  
Jerrick did look genuinely in pain and Madelene bustled to his side a moment later. While the healer worked, Elena spoke, "What happened?"  
  
"The Old One killed Elsa. Jason was...understandably upset. We don't know the details, but Jerrick tried to talk to him when we landed here. We heard a gunshot and found Jerrick..." He waved a hand briefly to indicate that they could see for themselves.   
  
Elena eyed Jerrick ironically. "Shot you, did he? You deserved it, no doubt," she commented acidly.   
  
Pale blue eyes opened and regarded her, semi-clouded with pain but every bit as sardonic as hers. "No doubt," he agreed weakly, then quieted as Maddy made an annoyed sound at them both.   
  
"Elena, that's not all."  
  
Eiran's grim tone jerked her attention back to him.   
  
"Jason took the Old One. He's taking him back to Crystal," the Turned said bluntly.   
  
No longer sarcastic, Elena caught her breath and then let it out, hissing between her teeth. "Get the Turned ready; we're going over there. Work with the witches to get the vampires moved," she issued the orders. Eiran nodded readily and a young witch moved to take his place holding Jerrick up.  
  
"Maddy, how much longer do you need?" Her eyes rested, unfriendly, on Jerrick. His lips curled in a barely perceptible smile.   
  
"Not long. Ten minutes," was the brief reply.  
  
Elena jerked her chin in assent. "Stefan, call the others." She lanced a look at him, sharp with irony. "They were promised a fight and now they're going to get one."   
  
She took in the faces of the gathered, grim and eager, purposeful and fearful. They looked back at her, for hope, instruction, courage.   
  
"Let's go," she said simply.  
  
* * *  
  
The four vampires were hit with the force of Stefan's mental summons at the same time.   
  
The urgency in that telepathy could not be denied and even Samar, lounging sulkily in her room, sat up. ::What?:: was the babble of response from all four, mingled with alertness, the sharpening of a hunter's senses.  
  
::The Old One's been taken to the hunters' place.::  
  
::What the hell?:: This from Tristan, who was apparently getting excitable. Bad enough that they hadn't been send to England and the two hunters had. Now they had the _Old One_? ::How did that lame fool Jerrick let that happen?::  
  
::No time. Just move. Elena and I will meet you there.:: And then Stefan cut them off, seeming to go blank.   
  
Outside her door, Samar heard quick steps as the others headed for the garage. She was off her bed a moment later, pulling her bulky sweater over her head in favor of a sleek black spandex top with silky sleeves that covered her arms to mid-forearm. Denims would do, she decided, stuffing her feet into runners.  
  
The sound of engines roaring to life heralded her arrival in the corridor. No way, she breathed to herself, freezing momentarily. They are _not_ leaving me behind now!  
  
She burst out the front door just in time to see the pale streak that was the Lotus speeding past her.   
  
::Tristan!:: she screamed after him.   
  
::I mean it, Samar. Not a finger or toe,:: he sent back. ::Besides, you ought to stay out of this. It's going to be dangerous.::  
  
::That's the _point_!:: she shouted back in frustration. He didn't reply.  
  
She was standing there, fist clenched till her nails bit into the flesh of her palms, gritting her teeth and incoherent with anger when a smooth, purring announced the approach of the Supra. The window on the passenger side slid down and Samar could see Makoe looking at her.  
  
Meeting his eyes, her breath caught and she clamped her jaw tight, refusing to look away. Get in the car with him? She'd rather die first. But then, if she didn't, she would be left behind. That thought swayed her and she bit her lip in indecision.   
  
A few moments passed with neither of them moving, and only the subliminal purr of the Supra's engine between them. Then Makoe shrugged faintly, apparently losing patience. He faced forward and sent the Supra zipping after the Lotus.   
  
Samar held herself stiffly proud until the blue sports car was out of sight, then put a hand to the threshold to steady herself. Fool! Now what was she going to do? Walk there? She didn't even know the way!  
  
She was chewing her lip in thought, eyes fixed on where the two cars had disappeared. There has to be something she can do, some way she can still get there. If only...  
  
Leon's car! The thought struck her, shocking her almost like a live wire. Then she was dashing back into the cabin. Where did Leon put his keys? Oh, please don't let him have taken them along with him!   
  
But she could find them. Last chance, she thought and went to look in what was probably the most obvious place; the ignition.   
  
Well, the keys were indeed in the ignition. But Samar saw the quiet figure behind the wheel first.   
  
"I thought you might need a ride," the laid-back vampire said simply. "Get in."   
  
And, after momentarily hesitation, she did.   
  
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* Comment! 


	51. Chapter Fifty: Fire

Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 17 December 2003  
  
* Rated for mild violence. Well... a bit more than two weeks since I last updated. Not bad... let's hope the next update comes as soon! On a slightly different note, I'd tentatively say Leaf will be done in about 6 chapters. Maybe a couple more. But the end is in sight! *grin* Many thanks to Moreta for taking time off her busy schedule to play editor.   
  
Feedback, thoughts, critique welcome.  
  
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~ Fifty ~  
  
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Samar burst out. Up ahead, the light changed to amber. Samar felt her right foot flooring an imaginary gas pedal as she unconsciously tried to speed the car up. They could have easily made it before the light turned red, too, except for Leon's putting-snails-to-shame speed.   
  
They _still_ might have made it across if Leon hadn't slowed the car down as they approached the intersection to bring it such a gradual and _gentle_ stop.   
  
Samar's fists clenched on the seat beside her thigh. She was keyed up for the fight and Leon's blatant placidity was driving her nuts. Nuttier! She saw him glance at her fists, then away. His own hands resting easily on the steering wheel, completely, utterly relaxed. But it was Leon; what did you expect?   
  
Frustrated, she growled. "Let me drive."  
  
A slight smile bloomed on his face, as if she had said something funny. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Samar."  
  
"I don't _care_ what you think; you're going to make us miss the fight!"  
  
If he showed any reaction to her exclamation, she didn't see it. Tense seconds ticked by. Leon made no reply and Samar broke of her glare to face forward and stare stonily out the windshield, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
"Sometimes, you're as infuriating as Makoe."  
  
There was a beat of silence. "And sometimes, not?" Leon offered.  
  
"Hah!" Samar snorted. Silence fell, well and truly, after that.  
  
With nothing else to do but stew and fume, Samar's mind turned to their last encounter and the cryptic conversation in her room. She reviewed it, for the hundredth time.  
  
After the harangue over Stefan's decision, she had dismissed the idea of being Turned; she didn't know how she would go on if she got kicked out of the hunt. Where would she go? Hang on to Stefan and Elena? Hardly!   
  
And so she had accepted that Turning was not an option for her. At least intellectually. Trying to get her rebellious heart to understand that was another matter.  
  
Then Leon had come, saying that he was also thinking of Turning. So if she chose to Turn, they could stay together. Something inside had leapt in excitement at this possibility, but the decision was still not an easy one.   
  
But that wasn't what was bothering her. His weird behavior that night was.   
  
Her mind played back that encounter. Now, if she were the paranoid, conceited type, she might have suspected that Leon had feelings for her. The idea occurred to her, of course, but he hadn't actually come out and said anything and there was no way she was going to be fool enough to make any embarrassing assumptions. Again.  
  
Not after... _Makoe_  
  
But curiosity was eating at her from the inside out. Now was her chance.   
  
Yeah, but how to begin?  
  
She thought hard but came up blank. She sighed.  
  
"Hm?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road.  
  
"After today, Stefan's not going to be part of the hunt anymore. He'll be human again." Nice save, Samar! she congratulated herself. That had come out of nowhere.   
  
Leon nodded. "Will you be sorry to see him go?"   
  
She felt a feral smile lift one corner of her mouth. "He's not going to get rid of us _that_ easily!" She saw Leon's lips turn up as well.   
  
"What about you? Have you decided yet?" she asked him.   
  
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he answered. "Well, partly. I will if you do."  
  
Samar bit back the automatic 'why?' that leapt wildly to her tongue and settled for, "And if I don't?"   
  
He grinned wryly at her, turning his head just barely to do so. "That's the part I haven't decided yet." Facing forward again, he threw it back to her, "What about you?"  
  
Samar blew out at her bangs noisily and pursed her lips. "I really don't know, Leon." She slouched against the door and rested her head on the windowpane as that prickly question came to the fore of her mind again. Her heart screamed, 'go for it!' and her mind yelled back, 'you're nuts!' and it just didn't go anywhere.   
  
"What's holding you back?" he asked simply.  
  
Good question. She considered it and didn't even notice when the light changed and Leon put the car into motion at a sedate pace again. "I lost everything when I became a vampire," she said finally, contemplative and uncharacteristically sober. "I guess don't want to lose it all again. Even if I became human again, things just won't be the same. It's been thirty years. I can't go back and pick up where I left off."   
  
More thoughtful silence, then she went on, "You saw Tristan's reaction; he'd never consider Turning. Which means..." She trailed off, unwilling to state outright just how much she depended on her brother, not just as a provider but as the only family she had left.   
  
Head still against the window, she swiveled it to regard him with a solemnity that was oddly childlike.   
  
He met her eyes full on but had to look back at the road after a second. "You wouldn't be alone," he answered quietly in his gentle way. "We'd be together."   
  
Was he talking about a temporary arrangement or something permanent? Either way, Samar tried to imagine living with Leon, without Tristan and Makoe around and couldn't. She smiled, but it twisted into something more than a little sour.   
  
"You and me? Happily ever after, you and me? I don't _think_ so, Leon." She stopped short.   
  
That came out more sarcastic that she had intended. She sat up straighter and turned to look to see how he had taken the careless remark. Well, it's too late to take it back now.  
  
Dead silence hung heavy and awkward hung between them. Leon kept driving, attention fixed on the road.   
  
Samar frowned, feeling a bit miffed at the lack of response and disturbed at the same time. Her female empathic antennae might not be the most sensitive in the world, but even _she_ could tell something wasn't right. Leon should have made _some_ answer to her words...   
  
Then she realized that the car was picking up speed. What the-  
  
She looked at Leon; saw only a fixed mask in profile with no expression whatsoever. Not at all his usual half-asleep look. Her frown deepened and she started to say something, then noticed the death-grip he had on the steering wheel.   
  
"Leon?"  
  
No reply.   
  
::Leon!::  
  
He made a vague sound of enquiry, which she would not have heard if not for vampiric senses, and even that sounded oddly flat.   
  
::What's wrong?::  
  
"Nothing." His curt tone was every bit as flat as the 'hm' had been.   
  
_Yeah, right!_ Samar snorted. The Nissan rounded a bend ungently, flinging Samar against the door. "That is so totally a lie!"  
  
He didn't appear to have heard her, and kept driving. Bloody hell. I didn't know Leon knew how to drive like this! Samar thought irrelevantly, watching the speedometer needle climb.   
  
"Leon. Leon! Slow down!"  
  
"You wanted to get to the fight," he reminded her, not easing up on the accelerator.   
  
"Yeah, but I want to get there in one piece." She dared to lean forward to get a good look at his face. It was tight and... bloodless. Except for a teensy bit of blotchiness. Samar felt true alarm. "Leon, stop the car."  
  
"What about the fight?"  
  
"There'll be other fights. Pull over. _Now!_"  
  
She was thrown against him and then only her seatbelt stalled her forward plunge as he jerked the car onto the shoulder and hit the brakes without warning. In the sudden stillness of a stationary car, Samar sat motionless, catching her breath.   
  
Well, you were curious, she reminded herself shakily.   
  
Leon's right leg started to jingle. Samar found herself staring at it. She'd never seen Leon exhibit any nervous gestures. She'd never seen Leon nervous.  
  
No, not nervous, she amended, looking at his blank face. Distressed.   
  
"Leon," she said softly, perhaps the first time she'd ever spoken to him in that tone.   
  
"What, Samar?" The first word was snapped, but the second was softer and limped a little. Was there a slight hesitation before he said her name?  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She could feel him tense. At length, he said, "For what?" in a careless tone that brushed off whatever she replied with before she even said it. The leg hadn't stilled.   
  
"For that last remark. I didn't mean to upset you; it came out all wrong. I meant-"   
  
He shrugged, cutting her off and she was faintly shocked. "I'm not upset," he said, still with that off-handed tone.  
  
No, you're in denial.   
  
She faced forward, leaning into her seat. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His apathy didn't change. The only thing that might be read was impatience to be away.   
  
Samar felt the situation getting rapidly out of hand and fought panic. Frantically thinking of a way out, she grabbed for something to salvage the mess.   
  
"You suggested that if we both decided to be Turned, we could stay together." If anything, he went even tenser. Her heart thudded dully. "Do you want to stay together because we'll need each other after we're Turned... or do you want to be Turned to... be with me?" Her face heated as she forced out the last phrases.   
  
The tempo of his right leg increased. She waited for an answer, until it seemed the heightening of the nervous gesture was all the answer he was going to give her.   
  
Her hand moved to gently stop the jerking knee but he reacted as if burned by her touch. Before she knew what was going on, the door on his side slammed shut and he had walked around the car and was standing as far away from the car as he could.   
  
She sat stunned for a moment, then got out more slowly. He had his back to her and she ended up staring at his hair for what seemed a long time. Her mind scrambled to put together an answer to this bizarre turn of events. She had _never_, _ever_ seen him act this way and it scared her.   
  
As moments ticked by, she walked towards him. He had to have heard her approach but might have been too proud to move away. She walked around him so that they were face to face.   
  
His face was set in a stiff mask. His eyes were dry. But they were red.   
  
::Leon,:: she whispered telepathically. His nostrils flared, then his face settled back into its mask.  
  
She didn't try to touch him. ::Do you love me?:: It was the only plausible reason her brain could come up with to explain all this; Leon simply didn't take offense and throw a temper tantrum over nothing. But she had to know for sure. And if it was true...  
  
Finally, he looked at her. She thought she read a little defiance in him, as if trying to salvage what pride lost by letting her see him like this. "What do you want from me, Samar?" he asked, blunt and curt.   
  
Samar felt a pang, never realizing the gentleness - tenderness? - with which he had always addressed her. Now, she mourned its loss.   
  
"You already know the answer to that. Moreover, you've made it abundantly clear you're... not interested." He looked away and a silent snarl twisted his lips. With visible effort, he got banished it.   
  
Samar's nails dug into her palms hard at the evidence of such hurt.   
  
He was not entirely successful in diffusing his emotions; when he resumed, the viciousness in his tone hit her like a slap, "Won't you leave me a scrap of dignity or will you not be happy till you've trampled even that?"   
  
She bit her lip and she felt a sharp stab of remorse. Her desire to preserve her pride had been at too high a cost to Leon. Leon, who had never been anything but kind and gracious to her.   
  
He moved, thinking she wasn't going to - couldn't - answer, spinning on his heel and returning to the car, leaving her standing there, staring at his back again.   
  
What could she do? Without thinking, she ran forward and grabbed him from the back, hanging on tight when he tried to jerk himself away from her. After the initial attempt, he stood, rigid and unmoving, too proud to struggle anymore, too gallant still to break her hold by force.   
  
::I'm so sorry,:: she whispered repentantly at him. ::Sorry I hurt you; I didn't mean to!:: She let him feel the sincerity of her emotions in her mind. She thought he relaxed a little. Was that a sigh?   
  
Beneath her hands and cheek, his body trembled as if containing some force. She thought he might explode into movement at any moment, tearing himself away from her.   
  
But he remained silent, though the tension didn't ease.   
  
"Can we talk?" she asked softly.   
  
"There isn't anything to talk about," he said. "I asked. You... turned me down. We go on as we did before."   
  
She shook her head, still hanging onto him. She had the irrational feeling that he would run away if she let go.   
  
"I didn't _know_ for sure what you were asking!" She refrained from adding 'stupid' at the end of that. A bit of impatience and exasperation was emerging past the remorse now that her mind has had a chance to catch up on things a little. "I say we go back to the car and take this from the top." And now a hint of steel and determination crept back into her tone. The message was clear: don't argue with me!  
  
How short-lived, your repentance, a voice mocked her. Shut up, she snapped back. I'm trying to _fix_ things.   
  
She didn't wait for a reply but released him and got into the car. Behind the wheel.   
  
He followed, sliding into the passenger seat. His reluctance was clear in his movements.   
  
"Let's...start at the beginning. But first, the golden rule: tell the complete and full truth. I'm going to assume _nothing_ unless I actually hear you say it. All right?" She waited for agreement and got a sardonic look. It shook her how different he was in this mood. Taking the look as agreement, she began: "That day, in my room..." She stopped to consider the best approach.   
  
"What was it you thought I wasn't ready to hear?" Ask and then wait for an answer. Where had she heard that bit of wisdom before?  
  
She had to wait longer than she thought.   
  
"I meant that you were not ready to hear about my... feelings-"  
  
"Love?" she broke in. Leon leveled what was - for him - a glare at her and she shrugged a little. "Like I said, full and complete. How do I know what exactly you mean if you don't come out and say it? I don't want any more misunderstandings."   
  
"My _love_," he resumed with emphasis, "So soon after Makoe." He stopped there although Samar had a feeling it was a last minute decision not to go on.   
  
"So when you said I would always have you... if I chose to, you meant, if we got together?" she prompted. A jerky nod confirmed this.   
  
She looked at him and waited till he met her gaze before speaking. "I didn't know, Leon," she said softly, leaving there little doubt of her honesty. "Suspected, yes. But I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. I learned my lesson with..." Makoe. The name didn't need to be said; they both knew who she was referring to.   
  
This time, his nod was less stilted, more understanding. He was slowly relaxing, becoming more his usual self, albeit more guarded and opaque.   
  
They both sat in thoughtful silence for the next few moments. When Samar realized how close they had come to letting this misunderstanding utterly destroyed their friendship, she nearly hit him.   
  
"So," Samar breathed at last. "What now?"  
  
He shrugged. "You know... now. What happens next is up to you. If you'll still have me as a friend, I can accept that. Before the issue of Turning came up, I've never thought of trying to make it otherwise," Leon said, studiously neutral.   
  
Hang on! Samar turned to face him. "You never meant to tell me how you felt? Never thought of asking me out or anything?" Though it seemed a bit odd to be dating your... 'hunt-mate.' But then, Makoe was a hunt-mate as well. Still, Samar felt the beginnings of outrage.  
  
Leon met her direct stare levelly. "None. If you'd been the least bit interested, perhaps. But otherwise, I would have left it well enough alone." He returned his gaze to the view through the windshield.   
  
Now Samar _really_ wanted to strangle him.   
  
"Why?" she shot at him. It was starting to sink in; Leon loved her. Why on earth would he not come out and tell her so?  
  
_And just how do you feel about this?_ a voice asked her inside. I-  
  
But Leon's reply cut off that train of thought. "Why would I jeopardize our friendship unless I thought something good would come out of it?" he asked logically.  
  
She gritted her teeth, wanting to find something to fault in that argument, but unable to. "Did you ever think," she began after a moment's thought, "That by keeping quiet, you rob me of my chance to _choose_ - to even _consider_ - what might turn out to be a beautiful and lifelong relationship?"  
  
He stiffened, not daring or refusing to look at her. "You know now," he said again, indicating that that line of argument was moot. "What is your opinion?"  
  
Which brought them squarely back to her question. What now? Depends on how you feel about this. So how _do_ you feel about this?  
  
In answer, her mind yielded a thousand flashes of caring moments. He had somehow always been there when she needed. Fighting with Tristan, dealing with culture clash and homesickness, hunting, having bad days, frustration over training with Makoe, frustration over being kept out of the loop - hundreds of little moments that she had never noticed, never consciously valued.   
  
Did she love him? Not as she had thought she loved Makoe. Which might be a good thing.   
  
Did she love him? No, but she... she might grow to. The knowledge of his feelings didn't repel her. In fact, it gave her a sort of low-key thrill, more like a glow.   
  
She came back to herself. Leon was understandably tense in the seat beside her. She decided to broach the easier topic first.   
  
"On being Turned... I haven't decided yet." He nodded at that, easily. "As for... you and I," she continued, self-consciously toying with a lock of hair.   
  
"I... I'd like to give it a try."  
  
His head whipped around like yanked by a string and she had to smile. "I'm not saying I'll be your life's partner," she qualified, soaking in his incredulous expression with an odd pleasure.   
  
"I'm not even saying I'm head over heels in love with you," she added a bit more gently, squelching alarm at the way his eyes glowed. "I'm just saying I'd like to see where this goes. So... if you want to bring up a night out sometime..." she trailed off, uncharacteristically shy.  
  
He didn't nod this time. His eyes were opened wide but his smile was wider.   
  
It was all the answer she needed.   
  
* * *  
  
The Old One woke to the smell of blood.   
  
His mind seared through the remaining threads of the mental compulsions wrapped around his psyche. He knew in an instant whose blood it was that had been spilt.   
  
His own.   
  
His already frayed temper and pride took in the injury and balked. It was too much; not only had he been ambushed and abducted, not only had he suffered the insult of having his Powers contained, these humans had dared to make free with his body while he was helpless; they had _rendered_ him helpless!  
  
He sent his awareness _outwards_, like the ripple caused by a dropped stone, radiating outward in all directions at once. His mind encompassed the room with a number of attentive hunters, passed through the grand mansion they were in and the manicured lawns beyond and touched the fringe of the fighting-  
  
_Movement._ His attention snapped back to his immediate vicinity. His head lifted in a smooth motion and the amber eyes found the comely young human holding the blooded knife. They were in the middle of a swimming pool, the Old One chained to the chair, the human standing before him.   
  
The hunter burned.   
  
It didn't matter that he stood in water up to his waist. Though he screamed and produced great clouds of steam, every fiber of his being was set aflame and _kept_ that way with raw Power as the Old One exacted his price for injuries offered.   
  
The ancient being watched the human scream and try to douse himself in vain, watched as the flaming figure frantically, mindlessly leap out of the pool and ran. He was aware of the shock and horror of the rest of the gathered.   
  
It was not enough. The small punishment did nothing to sate his rage. He sought another outlet and felt it come roaring out, making itself felt in a tangible, untamed - and more satisfactory - way.  
  
Raw Power found random sites to release pent-up, maddened fury. The air filled with the sudden, shocking sound of explosions, drowning the burning man's screams.   
  
The mansion shook. The blasts weakened the building and left fires in its wake in all parts of the house.   
  
Around the pool, other hunters unfroze, galvanized into action. Some ran out of the room, huddled protectively against the rain of debris. The rest advanced to try and cut down the man in the pool.   
  
The Old One, feeling calmer now, considered their attack. Without wild anger fueling him, he opted for the simpler solution and almost casually smashed their minds. More cries and loud splashes sounded. Waves jogged the water of the pool as hunters fell in, dropping weapons and clutching their heads in agony.  
  
The Old One could _feel_ the deaths and savored them as a balm to his injured pride. He tested his bonds. The shackles heated to red, then shattered in protest as water cooled it too quickly.  
  
As the broken bits of metal sank, and hunters twitched in their death throes, the red-haired man surged up, water cascading from his soaked clothes. He had reached the rim of the pool and was hauling himself out when a new awareness impinged on him: magic.  
  
He focused unerringly on the source; the darkly dressed figure standing before the raised dais. Was this the one who had trapped him? Amber eyes narrowed for a brief second, then his expression cleared and he... smiled.  
  
"Ah... witch." He could feel the other trying to work his puny spells, the human mind trying to dominate his consciousness.  
  
"Among your kind, you might be considered quite skilled," Emson told him conversationally. The smile grew, turning unpleasant. "But." With that simple qualifier, he struck.   
  
There was a sharp, truncated cry and the figure collapsed, mind destroyed beyond all hope of recovery and quivering, twitching, bleeding body to follow shortly. "You are not whom I seek."  
  
Standing amid stillness, the Old One took a breath, stilling his temper and ordering his thoughts.   
  
Air shifted and cold steel touched his throat.  
  
He caught the scent of the wood resin coating the blade easily enough but turned, unheeding of peril and curious to see whom it was that had managed to sneak up on him. The blade was as rock steady as the emerald eyes he met. Another hunter. Apparently, she had been smart enough not to rush him, brave enough not to run. Even now, he sensed no trace of fear in her and he found himself... impressed.   
  
The two eyed each other in a frozen moment, as dust continued to rain down around them. In the silence, the occasional crash of something falling or collapsing overhead was just barely audible.   
  
Probing lightly with mind and eyes, he found in her the same arrogance and intelligence that he had discovered in Janet Gallagher. And the outside proved just as attractive as the inside. She stood clad in a skimpy bikini that matched her eyes, wet skin lit golden in the shifting underwater lights. Hair as vivid as his own clung damply to her shoulders.   
  
"And who might you be, bright flame?"  
  
The cat-like eyes narrowed at the affable tone. "I am Crystal Baron, monster."   
  
He felt the surge of loathing in that last and nearly chuckled. Oh, this was going to be fun. "Such flattery," he murmured urbanely. "Well, you're certainly well-named, my fiery one." The blade pressed warningly to his skin at the endearment. He only smiled and reached to unbutton his sodden shirt.   
  
She continued to watch him warily but didn't slit his throat as he slid the garment off and tossed it aside. His eyes never left hers and he was sure she could see the silent laughter there that asked, 'What are you going to do?'  
  
When he reached for the waistband of his pants, though, she moved. Surprisingly quick for a human, she closed the distance between them and suddenly there was a second, smaller knife poised against his wrist.   
  
"I wouldn't," she advised huskily. The tone, for all that it contained velvet threat, was seductive enough to be pleasurable. "Unless you enjoy regenerating a new hand." She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. Or perhaps pushing her too hard had snapped her out of surprise.   
  
_Lots_ of fun.   
  
He stalled for a moment, then let go of the buckle. The knife melted away with his hand but she didn't step back. They were watching each other with half-lidded eyes now, dueling with their gazes.   
  
"Would you mind telling me how I ended up in your clutches?" he asked dryly, the crisp British accent all but nonexistent.  
  
_That_ got a smile out of her. Her lips twitched and her eyes lit ever so slightly.   
  
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunted. Oh dear me, was someone else starting to enjoy this exchange as well?  
  
"Well, obviously you know what I am. The question is: who caught me? As gifted as you are, pretty flame, you simply don't have the ability," he said matter-of-factly as her eyes narrowed further. He broke their locked stares, glancing at the insensible body of the witch. "It certainly wasn't that one either."  
  
He caught the derisive curl of her lip out of his peripheral vision. "No."  
  
"Who then?"  
  
To his surprise, she actually answered him. More unexpected was the unadulterated fury that shot through her. And then the name itself raised his eyebrow. "A witch by the name of Jerrick Edom."  
  
"A witch?" he repeated. "Not with a name like Jerrick Edom, little fire." He looked at her shrewdly. "You don't like him very much. I take it you're not colleagues, then."  
  
She snorted at this. "Not anymore."   
  
Ah. Do I sense a working relationship turned sour here?  
  
One didn't dwell among humans for millennia and not learn something of their psyche. And Emson McModrey - or earlier embodiments of him - had met other Crystal Barons. Well... perhaps not _like_ her, but he certainly knew her type. And the one thing that he knew about them was that they didn't tolerate being controlled. Come to think of it, he _had_ heard the name Baron before, linked to vampires and hunters. She must be something of a leader. That would fit.  
  
So this 'witch', one Powerful enough to catch him and certainly no simpleton, had tried to take her authority from her.   
  
Emson looked at her again, could see how she would never accept that.   
  
"Power," he said, cryptic and soft. Her eyes caught his again, her attention sharpened. "You and I understand about power, don't we?" At the eyebrows she raised in inquiry, he only tilted his head.  
  
"Jerrick Edom," he said cryptically, tasting the name. He paused to mull over this, then refocused on her, his tone melting to sensuality. Play time's over. "But tell me. What do you want with me?"  
  
Her brows lowered, eyes flashed. "Isn't it obvious? I'm a vampire hunter; you're an Old One."  
  
"And that makes me the ultimate prize-kill, " he surmised. "Tsk," he added disapprovingly. "Crystal Baron, don't you know that _my kind cannot die_?" He pressed against the blade that never wavered from his throat and felt warm blood trickle down his neck. His hands settled at her hips, pulled her to him and she was too surprised to react. "Dying is for mortal beings and creatures who were once mortal. Vampires claim to be immortal; they are fools. True immortality is to have nothing to do with death, not to have stemmed it."  
  
She started to struggle, but his eyes caught hers. He sent a swift mental probe lancing past her meager human barriers and sank down deep, taming this delectable shrew; body, if not soul. She stilled, but inside, she screamed in fury and flung defiance at him.   
  
He resisted another smile; This was almost too, too sweet. A pity she did not have kinder inclinations towards him and his; they might have done well together. For a time, anyway.  
  
He stroked her cheek delicately with one knuckle. His tone was just slightly admonishing, "You see, hunters, humans like you, are nothing more than logs in a fire. From the very moment you exist, you are already deteriorating."   
  
The alluring swimwear began to smolder then quickly caught fire. The flames blended with - then began to travel up - the human's bright hair.   
  
All the while, she stayed pliant and motionless in his arms and he held her.   
  
"In the end, you are but dying embers.. and then.. cinders and ashes." He could see the horror breaking through his hypnosis to leak out of her eyes now. The flames lapped at her goldy-skin greedily. She opened her mouth, but could not get her throat to obey her and produce a sound.   
  
He laughed and pulled her closer, sealing her lips with his own, engulfing her in flame that heated his flesh pleasantly. After a most satisfying kiss, he let her go and stepped back to watch.   
  
She remained rooted on the spot, head thrown back and mouth wide in a silent cry of agony, a human-shaped torch that seemed to burn on forever.   
  
"Ah... what a beautiful flame you are," he murmured as the light played over the planes of his face. Then, dismissively, he turned away. Let her remains be entombed here; it was fitting.   
  
The sounds of crashes had not ceased and heat from the fires above had sent billows of smoke through the door.   
  
The Old One paused at the sight of the lone figure in the doorway. An indistinct, shadowy figure at first, the smoke cleared away to reveal the unprepossessing man with tousled red hair and pale blue eyes, leaning on a cane.  
  
"My word, what happened to you?" he asked, urbane.  
  
The man smiled faintly. "It's been a while," was all he said.   
  
A lightning-quick mental probe yielded no further elaboration. Well, he'll find out eventually. "It has! Now, tell me, what is all this about? Did they-" He broke off abruptly in mid-sentence and laughed in sudden comprehension. The laugh held an edge that was not all that pleasant. And when it stopped, there was a spark in the crinkled eyes that promised he would not forget being played for a fool.  
  
"So you're the one Crystal calls Jerrick Edom, eh?" he commented rhetorically. He swept an exaggerated bow. "My compliments on the coup. You realize those loyal to me will arrive shortly." Sly eyes watched carefully for a reaction to that subtle threat.   
  
The man appeared unruffled. "Will you call them off?" he asked, his mild manner making the question seem more a matter of idle interest rather than real concern.   
  
"And waste all your good intentions of parking me in a hunters' stronghold?" He favored the man in the threshold a tigerish smile. "Whyever would I? Besides, they'll have to work out their aggressions; some are unfortunately excitable. Youth; you know how it is."  
  
They both nodded slightly in understanding, two cordial opponents in an exchange of lethal civility. A pause, as they weighed each other warily.  
  
"But, come, tell me," the one called Emson McModrey said with false joviality. "What's the reason behind this... surprising meeting."   
  
The other shifted his weight and leaned on his cane. "I wanted to introduce you to someone," he said simply, still smiling that faint smile. He lifted a hand off the polished wood of the cane and beckoned.   
  
A figure melted out of the darkened threshold. Another human female. Every bit as lovely as the last, though she did not seem nearly as feisty. In fact, from the abstract look on her face, she didn't seem overly bright at all.  
  
"A pretty little thing," he said casually. The smile on his face was patronizing. "You hardly had to kidnap me to bring us together," he pointed out to the other man dryly.   
  
When the unprepossessing man merely continued smiling, the Old One turned to the human.   
  
"And who might you be?" He asked it negligently, as if it mattered not to him whether she answered or not. Nor did it; he had all the time in the world - and more.   
  
But she focused on him suddenly and the intensity of her gaze... surprised him.   
  
"I am Elena Gilbert. I have been sent to...deal with you."   
  
The statement was unexpected enough, and brash enough, to wring another laugh from him. "Deal with me! And how do you expect to do that, little mortal?"   
  
Her blue eyes flashed. Oh, humans were such amusingly arrogant creatures. Especially the females, it seemed.   
  
Calming herself, she continued, "Nature has decreed it and I am her emissary. And her executioner." She took a step forward and her tone turned hammered, each word hitting like a blow, raising his hackles. "There is no place for you and your kind here; there is no balance in you. You do not live; you cannot die. You violate the laws of nature. She has tolerated you and yours for millennia."   
  
The blue eyes flared a challenge at him. "No more."   
  
On that last, an aura spread over her, like the wings of an angel unfurling. A witch in truth? No, she didn't have the feel of talented human. He watched her now, wary and derisive.   
  
"A pretty speech, and the effects are certainly impressive, little firefly. But still, no insignificant human is going to be able to 'deal with me.'"   
  
"Attend," she snapped. "Your brethren are no more, and today, you will share their fate."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "So you say."   
  
"So it shall be, Emmet Mogen," she Named him, deliberately, with something that could only be triumph.   
  
He stifled the urge to recoil at this. "Impossible! Our pact-"  
  
"Is unbreakable, save by one who is part of it," she finished, as if quoting. "And none of your brethren would have relinquished his Power and existence, so it was full-proof." She took a step towards him. "No longer, Old One."  
  
"This is a trick! You-!" and he whirled to stare accusingly at the silent red-haired man. "This is your doing; _what have you wrought_?"  
  
The man seemed amused. "I, too, am only Nature's tool."  
  
Infuriated, off balance, the Old One threw a mental lance at them both but neither attack succeeded, bouncing harmlessly off their shields.   
  
_And just how did a human have shields strong enough to repel him?_   
  
Flames flared up and blocked their path towards him. Hotter than any normal fire could be, it fed on the glistening tiles, melting them, scorching the ceiling to smoke and carbon. Let the human and her _tool_ deal with _this_.   
  
His moment of triumph was short-lived, as a shadow moved among the smoke and flames. The blond human girl walked towards him, apparently unscathed. Her faint white glow was clearly visible in the lurid red glow of the fires, which were spreading unchecked across the room. A moment later, a second figure limped through the haze.   
  
The Old One took an involuntary step back towards the charred remains of Crystal Baron. Catching himself in retreat, he froze and his face set in a snarl.   
  
Glaring at the man hatred stark in his eyes, Emmet Mogen gathered himself and cast far - searching for his remaining brethren. He felt another mind try to block him, but avoided the pitifully fragile grasp easily. He made contact, delivering the urgent, staccato warning before he was cut off. He met the pale blue eyes maliciously. The rest will not be caught unawares.   
  
Gold eyes, alight with malicious triumph, shifted from pale blue eyes to lapis-colored ones.  
  
"Come, human. Do your worst," he dared, holding out his hands in mock welcome.   
  
She advanced calmly until her fingers closed around his wrist. Upon contact, fire ate into her fragile mortal flesh. She hissed, baring teeth, but did not let go, even when he fed Power into the unnatural flame and crisped her hand.  
  
He stared at her, savoring her pain. His snarl blended nastily with a grin of enjoyment. "What can you do now, mortal?" he mocked.  
  
He felt it then; the cool Power coiling seductively up his own arm and spreading like wildfire through the rest of him. He tried to pull away but she held on with the strength of a maddened thing and he could not break her grip.   
  
Then came the dizzying unraveling of consciousness, when he had been barely aware of the enraged howl emitting from his immortal throat.   
  
Then, nothing. 


	52. Chapter Fifty One: Turn, Turn, Turn

Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 8 January 2004  
  
* Happy New Year, all! This is being posted without benefit of edits or beta reading beside my own. Comments and critique most welcome. If you'd like a closer look at the trials and joys of writing Leaf, I usually gabble about it on my LiveJournal http://www.livejournal.com/users/leian. To avoid confusion, this chapter begins a bit back in the timeline, overlapping with the events from the previous chapter.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
~ Fifty One ~   
  
They gave Maddy a chance to patch Jerrick up, if just barely, and get him into a clean shirt, and then they set off. The rest of the combat witches and Turned had gone on ahead. Stefan had to hunt for a spot to put the Porsche amid the other cars already littering the Barons' tree-lined private road when they got there.   
  
He noted Makoe's and Tristan's cars as they made their way up the driveway at as quick a pace as Jerrick could manage.   
  
The signs of fighting increased the closer they got to the mansion; broken branches, charred trees and –  
  
The forest green eyes moved on quickly. He could almost hear his brother's derisive laughter in his head. Death – unpleasant death – should be nothing new to you, little brother. You're supposed to be a vampire after all.  
  
Stefan set his jaw grimly and thought back to the phantom voice, Not for long.  
  
Glancing aside, he saw Jerrick staring at the trees with an oddly suffused expression on his face. The sounds of fighting grew and Stefan turned his attention elsewhere, his guard rising. Elena, beside him, seemed serene and a bit distracted. Stefan cast her a quick, worried look.   
  
Dotting the emerald lawn, hunters faced Turned or battled with witches. Gunshots rang out. Blades caught the late afternoon sunlight. Tall wooden spears swung with deadly intent and once in a while, witch power flared. The hunters were doing everything they could to deny the invaders entry into their stronghold. The Turned were faring better than they would have not too long ago, but the hunters still had the advantage of skill.   
  
But where were the vampires? Forest green eyes swept the scene before him. A sharp, enraged cry pierced the air just as he found them.   
  
They stood on a slight incline, battling in earnest. He touched Elena's arm to catch her attention, then started towards the pair, not particularly sure what he would do when he reached them.   
  
Makoe stood, cold and relaxed, matching Taura's stalking stride with ease. The petite huntress held her knife at an aggressive angle and she fairly bristled with hostility. She favored her left hand and blood dripped from her empty fingers.   
  
Stefan stopped, hearing Elena come up behind him. "Will he kill her this time?" she asked softly.   
  
::If I'd wanted her dead, do you think she'd still be standing?::   
  
Makoe's words sounded in Stefan's head, faintly derisive, but he gave no outward sign of the communication, steady eyes never leaving his opponent, no muscle moving to change his expression.  
  
Stefan shook his head to answer Elena; no.   
  
But Taura caught sight of them and got distracted. She opened her mouth to speak but that was as far as she got.   
  
They never saw Makoe move.   
  
Suddenly, Taura was on the ground, her chin jerked back with the vampire's forearm pressed to her windpipe. Makoe's other hand squeezed Taura's right wrist until her blade fell from pain-numbed fingers.   
  
When she twisted her head backwards to look at them, her eyes were furious but there was no fear in them, only desperate urgency. "Elena, Crystal—" she gasped, completely ignoring Makoe and the threat he posed to her.   
  
The vampire suddenly relaxed his hold enough for her to breathe. Stefan saw her eyes roll up in unguarded surprise before she caught herself and refocused on Elena.   
  
"Crystal's gone _mad_. She's got the Old One and they're torturing him—"  
  
"_Torturing_ him?" Elena repeated, disbelieving. Stefan was just as stunned, partly for the hunters' folly but more because they had been _allowed_ to take such liberties with the Old One.  
  
"Yes. He was unconscious and they couldn't wake him up—"  
  
The world exploded with sound. Stefan flinched and cried out as the sudden cacophony assaulted his vampiric hearing. He clutched his head in pain, but still felt the force of it vibrating through his body.   
  
As suddenly as it had begun, it ended.   
  
It took him a few moments to recover before he straightened, looking about. The cause was obvious; the mansion on the top of the slope looked as if it had been gutted and then set ablaze. Flames licked out the windows and smoke escaped through gaping holes in the roof.   
  
Everyone seemed to freeze, staring in horror and shock. Could anyone in the house have survived? Even as they watched, dust continued to waft out in a cloud and mortar started to crumble away from the building.  
  
Scrambled movement behind him and a barely audible hiss; Stefan whirled to see Makoe facing Taura sardonically, his right hand holding his elbow. The dark vampire was pale; he must have been as incapacitated by the din as Stefan had been. Taura had evidently snatched the chance to break away from him. She was crouched with her knife in right hand.  
  
Stefan saw a single rivulet of red run through Makoe's fingers where it pressed to the join in his arm.   
  
"Come, Elena."  
  
Jerrick arrived and gestured for the blonde after him as he turned to the mansion. He did not even spare the fighters a glance and Stefan knew, in a flash of insight, how Jason must have felt on seeing Elsa die unmourned.   
  
Then the spurt of anger slipped away, leaving the Italian vampire torn; his place was with Elena, but he didn't want to leave Makoe and Taura battling it out. On the other hand, Makoe could certainly take care of himself. And he'd already said he didn't intend to kill the huntress...  
  
Stefan half-pivoted, hesitated.   
  
"Stay here, Stefan. We will come to you later," Jerrick told him calmly without needing to look.   
  
Stefan shot Elena a questioning look; she nodded. She had slipped back into her earlier abstraction, but there was a grimness about her as well. He felt a stab of fear/regret, but acknowledged the silent signal and watched them go.   
  
The combined shock of the house exploding and seeing Jerrick and Elena appear seemed to take the fight out of the hunters who recognized them while the invaders took advantage of their opponents' flagging spirits.  
  
One figure caught Stefan's attention; a lean, lanky man who moved with barely leashed energy. Even from a distance, the manic grin was visible – and recognizable.   
  
Stefan watched Tristan dispatch two hunters, then whirled to face another three that were closing on him. They rushed him at once, hoping to negate his advantage of speed and strength with sheer numbers.   
  
Tristan wasn't daunted. Stefan watched in amazement as he kicked in one direction, catching one hunter in the stomach, swung his hand another way to knock down a second hunter and then pluck the third hunter's knife to impale the unfortunate individual with it. Unencumbered again, Stefan watched in amazement as Tristan looked around for a new opponent and ran to join the nearest fight.   
  
He inadvertently came to the aid of the Turned who was struggling to hold his own against a skilled hunter, but that was incidental and secondary; Tristan merely wanted the hunter for himself.   
  
The process repeated itself.   
  
Stefan knew guns were Tristan's weapon of choice, but the tall vampire never pulled it out except to dispatch a troublesome sniper hiding in the trees. Otherwise, Tristan fought with a breezy lack of concern for style or finesse, doing whatever it took to win. Much like Samar, Stefan reflected idly.  
  
But Tristan got regularly beaten up by Samar; how is he fighting so well now?  
  
::He fights dirty, and he needs the battle rush to spur him on,:: came the calm explanation.   
  
Stefan glanced at Makoe, still locked in a standoff against Taura, then back at Tristan. The excitable vampire actually laughed in delight as he spotted another group of hunters heading his way. ::He's mad.::  
  
::Quite possibly. But at least he's good at it,:: was the unruffled response.   
  
When Stefan looked back, Taura was still favouring her left hand but Makoe no longer supported his left elbow and stood normally again. The huntress feinted and Makoe caught her wrist and yanked hard. They did a rapid change of place, disengaged and spun to face each other again, silent, intent only on each other.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Stefan caught movement: Leon and Samar. Stefan frowned. They had come from the direction of the entrance. Where have they been?  
  
They made their way towards the hillock. Samar pulled ahead, running full out and leaving Leon behind. She checked in mid-step, threw a look over her shoulder and slowed to a stalking stride.   
  
"What's going on?" she asked when she got within earshot. She caught sight of Makoe and Taura and shot them a look. A bit of a sneer twisted her lips. "Where's Tristan?"   
  
Stefan indicated the spot on the lawn where Tristan had been, but he was gone. "Somewhere," he said vaguely.   
  
As Samar scanned the field, Stefan glanced at Leon. There was something different about phlegmatic vampire but Stefan couldn't put his finger on it. A lack of tension, but there was a greater liveliness at the same time. Perhaps it was just anticipation of a fight.   
  
There was another flurry of rapid movement between Makoe and Taura, followed by a muffled thump. Taura was sprawled on the ground, senseless. Stefan took an alarmed step towards her.   
  
"She's just unconscious," Makoe told him curtly, stepping past the fallen body and over to the other vampires. "Now that we're all here, let's go."  
  
"Go?"  
  
A jerk of the head in the direction of the mansion was all Stefan got for an answer and the dark vampire stalked forward.   
  
Without warning, Samar let out an ear-splitting yell. Stefan felt something whistle through the air above his head, saw Samar lunge for Makoe––  
  
Then there was a sickening thud as the crossbow bolt hit her unprotected back, burying itself between her shoulder blades.   
  
She screamed.  
  
Stefan froze. Leon reacted quicker, shouting as he ran forward to catch the falling girl. He went down on his knees, cradling her tenderly but awkwardly to his chest, carefully to avoid touching the bolt. Samar was gasping in pain, visibly holding back more cries.   
  
Makoe–  
  
Makoe had disappeared. After a moment, there was a crash behind them and a hunter fell out of the trees and hit the ground with an audible sound. Silent, a dark shadow landed beside him, hauled him up by the front of his shirt and threw him violently against the tree-trunk.   
  
The vampire was shorter than the hunter, but the former effortlessly pinned the human to the tree with his feet dangling. The hunter tried to lash out with a foot.  
  
Makoe snarled, fangs flashing white and feral.  
  
Stefan felt a mental blast lance from the dark vampire's mind and the hunter cried out again and went limp.   
  
The vampire kept his grip for another frozen moment, then jerked the hunter forward and threw him twenty paces to lie on the grass beside Samar. Leon raised his head slowly; he was as white as a sheet. He stayed blank with horror for another beat. Then his eyes fastened on Makoe and fury, jealousy and desperate fear chased each other across his face.  
  
Makoe walked over and held up the hunter's crossbow. Staring down at the dazed human, he broke the weapon in half and tossed it aside. He addressed the injured vampire girl curtly, without looking at her. "Feed." His expression was stony and his tone flat.   
  
Samar turned her head and bared her teeth – fangs – at him, but it was a silent grimace of pain, not an expression of hunger or acquiescence.   
  
"You need the Power," Makoe told her in the same tone. "And this one," he caught the hunter's chin in his heel, nearly snapping his neck with the force of the kick, "Surely deserves to die."   
  
Samar looked ready to fight for the sake of fighting. She glared, then pointedly ignored him. "Leon," she said lowly. The thin vampire pulled back enough to look at her. "Get that thing out of my back," she said, biting each word through clenched teeth with an effort not to scream.   
  
Stefan saw Leon tense but he kept his voice calm. "You'll bleed to death." The last word hung heavy in the air after he had said it.   
  
"The wood is killing me as surely," she snapped, voice skimming the edge of desperation. "And the bolt-head was tipped with something. It burns." She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips then.   
  
When Leon hesitated, Makoe stepped up behind Samar abruptly and yanked out the protruding projectile. Samar, unprepared, threw back her head and screamed again, twice as anguished as before.   
  
The scream freed Stefan from his paralysis. He staggered one step forward. It took an effort of will to keep his every action deliberate, controlled. He ripped his sleeve off – his father-the-count would have had an apoplexy – and bundled it to use as a compress against the wound.   
  
He helped a trembling, distraught Leon support Samar. Looking down at the clammy, pale face and into the pain-bright hazel eyes, Stefan realized how unreal the situation felt. Samar could not be mortally wounded. The wound was serious, yes, but it could not be bad enough to kill her, surely. Samar die? Impossible. Stefan recognized that he was in shock, irrational.   
  
Not half as irrational as Tristan was when he arrived.   
  
"_Samar!_" he roared, madness and fury in his voice as he raced towards them. He was bloodied from the fight. Most of the blood wasn't his own, Stefan knew. A small part of him realized how irrelevant that thought was.   
  
The hyperactive vampire all but shouldered him aside, almost dancing in panic. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded.   
  
No one answered him when Makoe bent to grip the hunter by the hair on the crown and jerked his head back. "Drink," he snapped.   
  
Samar glared at him with what came very close to virulent hatred. "It won't do any good."   
  
"Yes, it will." Makoe hauled the vampire as if he were nothing more than a rag doll and thrust him over Samar's semi-prone form. With his free hand, he all but ripped the human's throat out. Bright blood dripped onto Samar's face. "Drink."  
  
Stefan was sickened, but not as much as he had expected to be. He shared a bit of the grimness the others apparently felt. He was part of the hunt and they part of him.  
  
So when Samar moved to sit up, grasping the hunter's shoulders, Stefan lifted her, held her up, helped her.   
  
When she was done, Makoe and Tristan dragged the limp, cooling body away. Samar leaned back against Leon who cradled her with pain-staking care. Worry etching deep lines into his face.   
  
They were silent, watching her with varying degrees of anxiety. She had her eyes closed and her breathing was easier, but she was wan and her body was unnaturally still, lacking the vibrant energy that was so much a part of her.   
  
Tense minutes ticked by. Eventually, Samar sighed and opened her eyes. She looked at Makoe first. The dark vampire was silent and as expressionless as ever. If he felt any guilt, any remorse, that she had been injured protecting him, he gave no sign. Samar's lips twisted briefly but she didn't say anything.   
  
She turned her attention to Tristan. Her brother was speechless, the uncharacteristic manner underscoring the severity of the situation. He stiffened like a drawn bow when their eyes met. He met her eyes for a second, then spun and stalked away to the nearest tree. There, he unleashed his pent up emotions in silent, physical fury.   
  
Samar's hazel eyes went to Leon next, and her hand lifted to brush over his face. Tears, Stefan realized. Leon was weeping. "Just when we started, hm?" she murmured cryptically. Leon's eyes squeezed tightly shut and Stefan felt a pang of sympathy, having guessed how Leon felt about the vampire girl.   
  
From her words, it would seem that Samar knew as well.   
  
Fingers in Leon's hair, she finally looked at Stefan, and now the farewell – the resigned finality – in her eyes, was clear. The Italian vampire had the uncanny feeling of déjà vu, recalling how he had held Elena as she slipped away from him, that terrible day after she had defeated Katherine...  
  
Stefan's head came up just as Tristan burst out finally, unable to stand it, "There has to be _something_ that can be done!".   
  
"There is," he breathed. Tristan, fist still planted against the tree-trunk, twisted to look at him. So did the other vampires. "What?"   
  
Samar was staring at him, Makoe watching coldly, Leon looking as if he dared not hope.  
  
"There may be a way—" Stefan began a bit cautiously. "Elena—" He broke off as a bright figure exiting the smoking mansion caught his attention.   
  
The pale white glow surrounding Elena was visible in the gold of the evening's rays. She faced the house, head tilted back. Nothing happened at first. Then clouds started to gather and darken the sky.   
  
Rain fell, hissing, on the burning mansion. The vampires could feel the cool wind and smell the damp and the ozone before the fine drizzle reached them. Leon murmured something in wonder.  
  
Leaving the building behind, Elena made her way to where the two-score vampires had gathered, waiting for her. Stefan saw Jerrick limping along after her.   
  
He heard someone's breath catch; he thought it was Samar's. They all watched her with the intensity of predators. She didn't do anything, but then the first of the vampires began to fall. In ones and twos, the vampires collapsed and lay still. Stefan could sense, ever so faintly, the way the auras of each faded.   
  
"Elena can Turn Samar. And save her," Stefan explained softly. "It may be the only way."  
  
Tristan, of course, exploded. He came storming back to stand over Stefan with murder in his eyes. "Ridiculous. No sister of mine is going to be made human!"  
  
"Would you rather she die instead?" Stefan challenged flatly. If earlier he had been in denial, now his mind was clinical and devoid of emotion. It was, he thought, a different kind of shock.  
  
Tristan stopped short but the stubborn look on his face didn't change. He looked at Samar, seeking support. But Samar had her head angled to watch Elena. When the last vampire lay prone, the glowing figure glided over to them.   
  
"She's coming for me," Stefan reminded them, tight-voiced, when Tristan looked ready to fight. "And she doesn't change the unwilling."  
  
His eyes shifted to Samar resting doll-like in Leon's arms. "You can get someone to change you back into a vampire later," Stefan added compassionately. It could not be easy having such a decision forced on her suddenly and out of desperate need.   
  
"We don't _know_ what happens if one of the Turned is changed back into a vampire!" Tristan protested. Stefan wondered if the arguments were a knee-jerk reaction, a way of dealing with the stress of the situation.   
  
Then Elena was there. The glow, the expression in her face and eyes... She looked ethereal, otherworldly. Fey.   
  
She didn't seem to see Stefan, stopping to stand beside Leon. "Samar. Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked simply.   
  
Stefan heard Samar's breath roughen as she battled out this decision. Leon slowly took her hand. "I'll be right behind you," he said, quietly reassuring.  
  
Hazel eyes lifted and locked with forest green. Stefan tried to imagine how she felt at this moment, tried to understand what she might need. He gave her a look of calm understanding, but otherwise remained neutral, letting her take the time she needed to decide on her own.  
  
At last, she pursed her lips and blinked slowly once, reminiscent of nodding. Her fingers in Leon's his hand a light squeeze. "No, don't. Wait a bit; I might not be Turned for long," she told him.   
  
The mild vampire looked at her and it was she who gave him the reassuring smile. Drawing a deep breath carefully enough to avoid gasping in pain, Samar addressed Elena. "Yes. Yes, there is. Turn me."  
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
Samar braced herself. "Yes.  
  
"Very well then." Elena didn't give her any time to reconsider. Power unfurled and coiled around Samar.   
  
Stefan could almost feel the thrum and singing of raw Power. He felt her tense, then go lax. Her breathing evened out, then slowed and finally stopped. He found Leon's eyes clinging to him and nodded in reassurance. "That's supposed to happen."  
  
The Italian vampire rose and stepped away. Tristan moved to take his place, crouching beside his sister.   
  
Stefan walked to stand beside Elena and calmed his mind. His own transformation was suddenly upon him and he needed to prepare himself for it.  
  
::Good hunting.::   
  
Stefan slid Makoe a look for that incongruous wish, but took it in the spirit it was meant. ::Thank you.::  
  
Then Elena faced him and all other thoughts disappeared. Stefan stared into her deep blue eyes, searching for a hint of the woman within the vessel of Power. ::Elena.::  
  
He thought he saw a flicker of recognition amid the abstraction.   
  
::I will not be able to do this anymore, not in this way. But for one last time, I wanted to tell you in a way you cannot doubt, in a way you can only feel, how much I love you.::  
  
::Stefan...::   
  
His eyes widened in shock and delight, hearing her own mental voice in his head.  
  
And suddenly, he found himself looking at Elena, not the instrument of Nature but the girl he who meant more to him than life itself.   
  
The white glow was gone, but he didn't noticed; love shone in her eyes and there was nothing distant or fey about them.   
  
They closed the distance between them and the contact brought strength, comfort.   
  
::I love you, too.::   
  
Stefan held her tight, basking in the pure, clear emotion that flowed through those words. He suddenly felt the urgency to say a thousand things to her while they could share it mind to mind like this, but no words formed in his mind, only feelings. Some, he shared with her – anticipation, hope, eagerness, need. Others he carefully kept hidden – fear, uncertainty, regret-tinted nostalgia.  
  
From her, he received love, answering need, echoed anticipation and a fierce protectiveness. How long they stood there, in wordless and intertwined communion, Stefan didn't know, but finally he roused to rest his lips on her temple.  
  
::I'm ready,:: he told her softly.   
  
Stefan felt her gather herself. Then, warmth spreading from her to him, enfolding him.   
  
So this is what it's like, he thought. And in the back of his mind was the chant, Change. I want to be human again.  
  
Odd images rose in his mind. Flashes of moments in the past five hundred years, things he had not thought about in decades and more. The pictures came faster, spinning dizzily out of control. They began to merge into a featureless blur, only a remembered scent, a snatched fragment of sound, brought back memories.   
  
He felt Elena's mind touch his again, just as he slipped into unconsciousness.   
  
* * *  
  
Eiran watched her.   
  
She sat on the damp grass beside Stefan's body with one of his hands nestled in hers. They were both so still, they could have been a single statue. Bright hair fell around her bent head, obscuring her face. He wondered what thoughts occupied her mind.  
  
The instrument of Nature, the shining figure so removed from human cares, was gone. Now he saw only a young woman sitting anxious vigil over her beloved.   
  
A second figure lay nearby; the vampire girl. She had her own attendees – her brother and the thin vampire. The cold-eyed vampire stood a little apart, one shoulder propped against a tree. Eiran had the odd sense that he was watching over all of them.  
  
::Eiran.::  
  
Eiran was abruptly aware of his surroundings again, his focus expanding beyond the little circle around Elena. The ex-vampire swiveled his head to meet Jerrick's gaze where he sat quietly on a blanket spread on the ground.   
  
The rain had tapered off, leaving everything with a sheen in the twilight. Lamps and candles dotted the lawn. Inside the ruined mansion, the powerful beams from heavy-duty hand lights swiveled as some hunters and witches looked for survivors or retrieved valuables.   
  
The news of Crystal's demise had hit the hunters hard, thrown them into disarray. Heated words had been exchanged between the dominants, who stormed off with their respective supporters. No clear leadership had emerged.   
  
In the space of an hour, Crystal Baron's great hunter army broke up into small bands, diminishing in size and, more, in might.   
  
The fractious ones had departed after an 'interview' with Jerrick. Eiran didn't know what it was the witch had said – or done – but the Turned and the witches had not been forcibly ousted from the Baron place. The hunters that remained now, incredibly, took direction from the red-headed witch. Eiran recognized them as those who had known and worked with Jerrick before Elena's arrival.   
  
Just then, Taura stuck her head out a second-storey window of the mansion then and called something down to another of the hunters who replied. The petite huntress let out a frustrated yell, then ducked back inside.  
  
Further along the treeline, a mixed group of Turned and witches had settled to wait in a small cluster, having made the new-Turned as comfortable as they could.   
  
Jerrick lifted a hand and beckoned.   
  
Eiran crossed the distance separating them, feeling his expression close to neutrality. He waited for Jerrick to speak, taking a patient stance beside him. The witch didn't keep him waiting for long.   
  
"This is going to take a while," came the cryptic murmur. The pale blue eyes were focused on the little hillock where Elena was.  
  
Eiran kept quiet.   
  
"I want you to leave tomorrow."  
  
He froze. "So soon?" he blurted then paused. And why not? a voice asked him logically. What was the point of waiting?   
  
Except, he realized with a start, that he had wanted to spend some time with Elena before leaving on the next task Jerrick set for him. That realization made him uncomfortable even as conscious recognition of it increased its intensity.   
  
Now Jerrick jerked about to look at him. "Emson McModrey managed to send out a message before he was unmade. I was too weak to block him." The frail fist clenched where it rested on one knee. Jerrick's voice remained low but what it lacked in volume was more than compensated in intensity. "His remaining brethren _know_, Eiran. The next one will be on his guard. It will make it so much more difficult to catch him. We have no time to waste. We _cannot_ let him thwart us like that. We are _so close_" The last came out almost hissed.  
  
Eiran tensed, feeling fear shoot up his spine like an icy blast. It was perhaps the first time he had seen Jerrick show such strong emotion. Knowing full well how powerful Jerrick was, knowing just what he was capable of, Eiran was justified in his dread.  
  
His first thought was to worry for Elena and her continued defiance of this man.  
  
Jerrick was silent, appearing to compose himself. When he spoke next, he was once again the frail witch who guided with wisdom and a mild word.   
  
"Eiran, I think I can manage things here with the other witches' help. Gather your people and return to the lodge. Make whatever preparations you will need. Rest. In the morning, I will confer with you and you will lead them out and bring me back the sixth Old One."   
  
The ex-vampire took a breath to calm himself and give himself a moment to shake off his lingering visceral fear.   
  
Tomorrow. Elena would not leave Stefan's side this night, even if he awoke in the next few hours. Eiran would not have the chance to speak to her at all.   
  
Jerrick turned his eyes away from Elena and caught Eiran's gaze. "We're close now. She's almost free."  
  
Free. The sooner they defeat all the Old Ones, the sooner Elena would be released from her promise and immortality. With Stefan now Turned, there would be nothing standing in their way once she completed her task.   
  
Some of Eiran's resistance to leaving so soon melted in the face of that thought. His throat clenched as he walked away. He signaled one of the Turned who was part of the strike force and conveyed Jerrick's message. As the man ran to gather the rest of the strike force, Eiran made his way to Elena.  
  
He called her name softly when he was in earshot. The two other vampires near the unconscious girl looked up, as did she. Makoe, who had watched him approach, continued to look at him in silence.  
  
"Eiran," Elena acknowledged just as quietly, as if afraid to disturb Stefan or the vampire girl. She lifted a hand in tacit invitation for him to come closer.   
  
He did, crouching on one knee beside her. His eyes went to Stefan's face. "How goes it?" he asked. Could she track the vampire as he or she Turned? The vampires had gone back to keeping watch over the girl, ignoring him.   
  
Elena still held one of Stefan's hands in hers. "Well enough. It will be some time yet before we'll know for sure. But not too long." She sounded serene, confident; if there was worry there, it was well-hidden.  
  
Eiran could only nod. He hesitated. "I will be leaving in the morning to track the next Old One."  
  
Her head moved a little and her face lifted in a listening pose.   
  
"Jerrick said the other Old Ones have been warned. We need to move quickly," he explained.   
  
Elena was silent for a long moment. "I can understand his urgency," she said at last. Her tone surprised Eiran, holding none of the edge that usually emerged when she spoke of Jerrick. "Is he going with you?"   
  
"Not that I know of, milady." He earned a quick, reproving look for slipping into that old form of address and flashed a small, unrepentant smile. The look reminded him of how anger could sharpen a woman's beauty.   
  
"Am _I_ supposed to go with you?"   
  
He shook his head.   
  
"He can't mean to capture the Old One, then, without either of us with you," she mused, frowning. "That would mean he hasn't located the Old One yet." Her frown deepened. "I'd have thought he would be watching all of them by now," she murmured, more to herself than to him.   
  
He watched her eyes travel to rest on Jerrick and then narrow. Finally, she looked back at him and her expression softened, giving him a pang.   
  
"Thank you for telling me, Eiran. Be safe," she said.  
  
He bent his head in a combination of a nod and a bow and rose. She turned back to her Stefan before he had take two steps. Back to her, eyes on the ground, he walked away.   
  
"And you, lady," he whispered, then raised his arm and voice to call the other members of his team. 


	53. Chapter Fifty Two: Constant Change

Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 18 January 2004  
  
* Hi, everyone. I've been struggling a little with Chapter 53, but hopefully, not for much longer. Just want to say a quick thank you to Kichiko (I keep wanting to say chiriko -- that's little one, in Japanese, right? ^_^) for encouragement with each chapter. As we have less than seven -- I'm putting my foot down at 60 chapters or more! -- to go before we wind up this tale, there are some things I'm wondering about in retrospect/review. I'm going to post these as questions in the next chapter and I'd appreciate any feedback you'd care to give. On another note, hey, I hadn't realized that author alerts are now available to all members! Fantastic!  
  
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~ Fifty Two ~  
  
Waking felt both surprisingly normal, yet subtly disorienting.   
  
Stefan lay still, eyes still closed as he came back to consciousness of his surroundings. What was different? He searched his mind, trying to identify the sense of wrongness. He felt something wet and prickly beneath him: grass. But the scent was wrong. The sounds around him told him it must be night. But he had to strain to make out the call of nocturnal creatures. Everything was quieter, blunted...  
  
Memory caught up with him and his eyes sprang open, body tensing. There was no pain, a small part of him noted absently as he sat up. Has it happened? Is it done? Was he really Turned? It felt unreal-  
  
It was dark. At first, Stefan could barely see and he was disoriented. Then his eyes - and his mind - adjusted to human perception again and he began to make out shapes.  
  
A soft intake of breath drew his eyes like a magnet. A short distance from him stood a familiar figure, oddly transformed. But no, it was he who had changed...  
  
Stefan was peripherally aware of the witches seated with some simple food on a blanket behind her. Light from the lamp set beside the blanket silhouetted the blonde, turning her hair into a golden halo.   
  
She took two steps forward and he could see her more clearly. She had her fingers to her lips and her eyes were wide with emotion as she watched him. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. Then Stefan held out his hand in silent, beckoning invitation and she flew into his arms.  
  
"Stefan, oh, _Stefan_!" she gasped, hanging on to him as if she were drowning. He held her close, sharing the same sense of relief and euphoria she was feeling. It was done. They had done it. There was nothing in their way now; they could have the life together that they had never dared to dream about. The realization made Stefan dizzy.  
  
Then she was laughing through her tears of joy and he joined her until they were both breathless. With her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, Stefan looked up at last, noticing the rest of the world.  
  
He just barely made out Makoe in the shadow of a tree, leaning against a trunk with his arms crossed.   
  
::You made it. Congratulations.:: Makoe's mental voice sounded much the same as before, and his tone was as flat as ever, but there was a tension there that Stefan sensed.  
  
He looked to where Samar had been. Tristan and Leon were in the same position as before, save that they were watching him. The tension that had been barely perceptible in Makoe was almost a tangible thing around those two.   
  
"Samar?" he whispered.   
  
Elena pulled away a bit reluctantly and met his eyes, sober. "She's not woken up yet."  
  
"But... she was Turned first," he said carefully, the unspoken question in his tone.   
  
"Yes. Yes, she was."  
  
* * *  
  
"There is nothing I can do!"  
  
Samar drew a sharp breath as the cry pierced her unconsciousness. There was an answering gasp from somewhere close and above her.   
  
"Samar," someone breathed her name. Leon.   
  
Instead of replying, she inhaled again deeply. Why did it feel like she was gasping for air? Like she had been holding her breath for too long?  
  
Well, at least the shouting had stopped.   
  
She was shifted, lifted to aid her breathing and warm arms supported her. In a few seconds, she was feeling better, less like she was about to suffocate.   
  
She sighed, reluctant to open her eyes or move. She was so comfortable like this, cradled in warmth and nicely sleep-fogged.   
  
::Samar?::   
  
Yes, Leon? Ooh. She couldn't reach out with her mind.  
  
Her eyes flew open and she thought she heard a sigh of relief. The shoulder under her shifted again.   
  
"Leon?"   
  
"I'm here," came the instant reassurance. "How are you feeling?"   
  
"Fine." She moved and he helped her sit up. She felt weird, actually. Like she was down with a flu and her head, ears and nose were stuffed up and her eyes bleary. She blinked, and shook her head. No, not a flu. Vampires didn't get sick.   
  
::But I'm not a vampire anymore. I'm Turned now. I'm human again,:: she realized with wonder. She wriggled her shoulders, testing the pull of muscles in her back carefully. No pain. Stefan was right; she was healed -Stefan!  
  
Her head jerked up.   
  
They were back in the cabin. She was on the coach with Leon and in front of her; Stefan and Elena faced Tristan in a frozen tableau. Tristan had a fist raised in midair as if he'd forgotten about it, Stefan had his hands held out in a defensive position and Elena, behind him, was tensed and ramrod straight with fists clenched at her sides.   
  
All three were staring at her.  
  
Elena relaxed first. "Samar," she said with relief. Her voice broke the spell. Stefan smiled and against her will, Samar's breath caught; he really was handsome and having the full force of that smile turned on her was just a bit overwhelming. He had changed, she noted, studying him when she was no longer blinded by the smile. His good looks were wholly human now, the faintly feral quality that had been his vampirism gone. Samar thought actually suited him.   
  
Tristan was taking slow steps towards her, almost as if he were stalking her. She focused her attention to him and narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked, suspicious and a little defensive at the way he was looking at her.   
  
"You're human now?"   
  
Samar felt her lips twist into a parody of a smile. She opened her mouth and skinned her lips back. "Lookie here. No fangs."  
  
Unbelievably, he paled. "That can be fixed." His own fangs slid out. He was still coming closer.   
  
She didn't back away, but she did lean back against Leon as far as she could go. "Not yet, Tristan. I want to give this a try first."   
  
"What's to try? You know what being human is like; you were one for eighteen years!"  
  
"And I've been a vampire for 30. So give me another twelve years to balance the scales, why don't you?" she snapped back. ::He doesn't get it,:: she realized, dismayed. ::He doesn't know that I was thinking of becoming human again, doesn't understand why I'd even consider it.::   
  
He froze. "Are you saying you want to stay a human? You don't want to be changed again?" His tone dared her to refute him.  
  
Samar sighed, and pressed the heel her hand to her forehead. Her earlier peace was crumbled at that difficult question. Being Turned hadn't simplified the situation at all; she still had a choice to make.   
  
"I don't know. I need some time to think-"  
  
::No!::  
  
Her head jerked up at the roar but all she saw was a flying blur. Then Tristan landed on top of her, fangs a hairsbreadth from her neck.   
  
"Wha-Tristan!" she shouted, breaking out of her shock to try and push him off. But his hands closed on her shoulders and he was just too strong. He was, after all, a vampire, and she was only human now. Samar felt Leon pinned under her and frozen with shock before he too started trying to get Tristan off her.   
  
He snapped, nearly reaching her neck. Once. Twice. She squirmed and dodged, feeling fear and rage shoot adrenaline through her body. His fingers dug cruelly into her arms and he didn't hesitate to use elbows and knees to good effect. She screamed his name again in pain and fury. This could not be happening! How _dare_ he? Has he gone _mad_?  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" And then Stefan was there, trying to pull Tristan off. The gaunt vampire was surprisingly strong, or perhaps his maddened frenzy was giving him unnatural force. With a swipe and a lashed out foot, Stefan went sprawling.   
  
Amid the chaos, it should have been impossible to hear the single, quiet click of metal. And yet, it sounded as clearly as a gunshot and everyone froze.   
  
Makoe stood over them, gazing down at Tristan dispassionately. He had a gun pressed to Tristan's head. "Think you can change her before the bullet kills you?"   
  
Samar stared at him. He wouldn't really kill Tristan...would he? Her eyes went from the rock-steady hand holding the gun to his cold, cold eyes, and what she saw there chilled her.  
  
"Makoe, get out of the way, dammit. I can't let her stay human."  
  
The dark vampire was unimpressed. "It's her choice."  
  
"No!" Tristan shouted and the gun pressed warningly into his scalp.   
  
"Let her up, D'Angelo." The tone never wavered; it was flat, calm and cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion.  
  
Tristan reached up and knocked the gun away with a swipe that no one saw coming. Makoe didn't even bat an eyelash, merely stood there and continued to watch him expressionlessly. Tristan snarled at him, fangs glinting in warning, then turned back to Samar.   
  
But when he tried to lower his head, he froze. Samar watched in amazement as he looked puzzled, then frustrated as he tried unsuccessfully to sink his fangs into her throat. Finally, he snapped his head around to snarl at Makoe again.  
  
"I said let her up." With the quiet words, Tristan was suddenly thrown across the room and pinned spread-eagle against the far wall with invisible bonds.   
  
Samar could only stare: Makoe had not touched him. She sat up hastily as began Tristan hurling abuse at his 'captor'. He really must have gone mad to be saying such things to Makoe, she thought, catching her breath.   
  
Makoe was walking over to her pinioned brother when Samar felt a hand on her shoulder. She hadn't realized she was trembling until then. She huddled against Leon, but could not take her eyes away from the dark vampire and her brother. Would Makoe really kill him?   
  
Elena was helping Stefan sit up. Samar spared him a worried glance; he was human now too and couldn't take as much abuse as a vampire could. He seemed all right, though, standing and taking an unsteady step towards Tristan.   
  
Makoe flicked his fingers in a staying gesture and Stefan hesitated, then took the nearest armchair, Elena still hovering anxiously over him.   
  
The short vampire stopped directly in front of Tristan. "Why?" he asked shortly. It took Samar a moment to realize that Makoe was asking Tristan to explain his actions.  
  
Tristan growled a curse at him, then his head was jerked back as yanked by invisible hands in his hair. Or around his neck. He gasped.   
  
"Why?" The tone of that single-word question was relentless and icy.  
  
Tristan only bared his fangs defiantly at his tormenter. Oh, Tristan, can the stupid bravado and just answer the question already!  
  
Then Makoe murmured something too low for her to catch and Tristan glared in murderous fury.   
  
"We're waiting, D'Angelo."  
  
Tristan held on another second longer. "She's my sister," he spat eventually.   
  
Since when did you get a kick out of assaulting your own blood? she wanted to ask sarcastically, but she was still shaken.   
  
Makoe crossed his arms in a gesture of waiting.   
  
"I can't let her get kicked out of the hunt. And she will be if she's human. And then what would happen to her? Who would take care of her?" Tristan's eyes finally went to her.   
  
"She's just a kid."  
  
While Samar was still trying to decide if she was going to beat him up for his patronizing or hug him for his care, Leon spoke up.   
  
"Tristan, if she decides to stay human, she won't be alone." He paused. "I'll be Turned, too. I'll take care of her. For," he added wryly, looking down at her. "As long as she lets me."   
  
She shot him a disgusted look, then lifted her nose disdainfully, eyes going to watch the other vampires' reactions.   
  
Tristan was staring and Samar almost laughed at his pole-axed expression. She wrapped her arms around Leon and felt him return the embrace after a brief hesitation. Eyes meeting her brother's, she felt a tremulous smile curved her lips and nodded.   
  
There was no further argument from him. Maybe it was his surprise that robbed Tristan of his fight. Maybe he genuinely had objected to her being Turned only because he was worried about her and now that Leon had said he would look after her, Tristan was satisfied. Or maybe it was because the force that was holding him pinned to the wall chose that moment to disappear.   
  
Tristan sprawled on the floor indecorously.   
  
Samar stifled an impolite, "Hah!" and looked away quickly. She caught Makoe watching at her and Leon. His fathomless eyes captured hers for a second before she tore away and went back to watching Tristan pick himself up.   
  
Getting into a fight with her brother was definitely the lesser of two evils.   
  
Tristan grunted as he straightened. Samar noticed livid lines where she'd clawed him and he moved like an old man, but that was probably from being thrown into the wall and held there by raw Power. How had Makoe done that anyway? Nevermind.  
  
"Well," he said at last, almost looking calm - for Tristan. "I guess that's that, then. Let's go."  
  
Samar's mouth fell open. "What?" She sat up, like a deer scenting a predator.  
  
"Let's go," he repeated. "Jerrick told us we would be hunting Old Ones. Well, they've already got two of them. Have you even eyeballed one, yet? All I've got is fighting a couple of lousy hunters. I don't need any witch to be able to do that. Stefan's human now; he's not part of the hunt anymore. What's to keep us here?"  
  
Samar glared at him. Nor was she the only one. "Well, if Stefan isn't part of the hunt anymore, then neither am I," she snapped.   
  
"That's different," Tristan said quickly. "You've not made up your mind yet."  
  
Oh. Tristan wasn't fighting about her being human because he was deluded. Great.  
  
Trying to argue that point with him was futile. Instead, she crossed her arms aggressively and her lip curled. "I'm staying."  
  
Leon, beside her nodded agreement. "There are two more Old Ones to deal with. We'll get our chance."  
  
Her brother snorted in disgust. "You're nothing more than a pair of gullible, worthless humans now - or as good as. I'm out of here."  
  
Well, no one would ever accuse Tristan of being consistent, at least. But the insult raised Samar's hackles. She watched him spin on his heel and head for his room while anger burned like acid in her stomach.  
  
She didn't remember moving. The next thing she knew, Tristan was flat on the floor with her knee digging sharply into his back. She hid her own surprise when he twisted his head to glare at her. He tried to roll over and an arm flailed in an awkward attempt to knock her aside. Without thinking, she caught his fist in mid-air. Held it as he struggled to get free.  
  
"Worthless human, eh?" She managed, miraculously, not to yell. Instead, the rhetoric came out as a sort of purr with an underlying growl. She gave him a lethally sweet smile.   
  
"I may be human now, bro, but I have been a vampire. I will never be 'just' a human again." She all but threw his hand aside and got to her feet, feeling steadier than she expected. "Stay a while," she suggested, borrowing Leon's mild tone of voice. "Things might get interesting yet."   
  
And that was, truly, that.   
  
* * *  
  
Elena shut the room door and turned around slowly.  
  
Stefan was watching her and the joy in his eyes was quiet no longer. It electrified the air between them. Wordless, he opened his arms and she came into them willingly.   
  
There were sweet tears and whispered words amid the kisses they shared then. Laughter of sheer elation. Confessions of love and fears. Relief shared.   
  
When the storm of emotion had passed, they lay quietly on the bed together, Elena's head pillowed on Stefan's chest, the beat of a now-human heart in her ear. How long they stayed like that, they neither knew nor cared. But finally, Stefan moved to rise.   
  
Elena lifted her head to look at his face in enquiry. He met her eyes, looking unwontedly grave, then got off the bed and started pacing the room.   
  
"Stefan?" Elena asked gently. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, watching him. When he didn't answer, she reached out and caught his hand as he passed. He looked at her and she was struck by the indecision in his eyes, as if he was struggling with something.  
  
"What is it?"   
  
He shook his head and touched her fingers to his lips before resuming his restless pacing. Elena watched him prowl with that remnant of vampiric grace. Or perhaps it was his aristocratic upbringing that led him to carry himself thus. She admired him absently while the greater portion of her mind tried to puzzle out his odd behavior. After a double handful of circuits, he whirled to look at her.   
  
"The timing is all wrong; you have another two Old Ones to face and there are arrangements that must be made now that I'm human again and this really isn't the place, but I can't wait anymore. Elena, there is something I need to ask you." He retraced his steps till be stood in front of her again and took her both hands in his.   
  
She tipped her head back to look at him, expectancy and concern in her face.   
  
Meeting her eyes solemnly he asked, "Do you remember the first time we... promised ourselves to each other?"   
  
Elena had to take a moment to absorb the apparent non sequitur and then to understand what he had asked. Memory came quick and sweet.  
  
"Of course," she answered softly. They had been sitting in Mrs. Flowers' attic and she had confessed the whole mess with Caroline to him. They had exchanged blood then... and he had given her Katherine's ring.   
  
"A lot of things have changed since," he continued. "I was a hunted man then, and a vampire. You were about to graduate and Katherine and Damon were adding their own intrigues." He tried to smile, but it didn't banish the gravity in his eyes. "Elena, even with all those things against us, I wanted, _needed_ to be with you, always." And now his eyes glowed, that last word half-whispered and fervent.   
  
"That one thing has not changed. I still want us to be together, always."  
  
It was then that Elena realized where this was heading and it was a good thing she was sitting down because it was doubtful that her legs would have supported her in that moment. Her breath froze in her throat, her mouth went dry and her heart took wing.   
  
Her mind turned back to when they had sat together on his bed in the attic. He had struggled to find words then as well, she recalled and smiled at the memory, but the joy and love welling up inside her now outshone the amusement.   
  
He went down on one knee before her, still clasping both her hands in his. His tone, when he spoke, was soft and formal. "Elena Gilbert, I love you with all my being and I want to share with you this mortal life that you have gifted me, and to share yours. I want -"   
  
He broke off and momentarily looked frustrated. Elena had the uncanny insight that in this one moment, he sorely missed the ability to touch her mind and show her without words what was in his heart. He muttered something in Italian, then switched back to English. "I want to fill your days with joy and your nights with love. I want to be a true husband to you and, if possible, give you children."   
  
He freed one hand and pulled out a small velvet case from his pocket. It snapped open with a flick of his thumb, baring the gleaming stone set in a circlet of platinum; not a lapis lazuli this time, but a diamond. "Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?"  
  
Elena looked away from the sparkling rock on its bed of black velvet and into green eyes that were tensed around the faint smile on his lips. Inwardly, Elena shook her head. How _could_ he be nervous...  
  
"Something else hasn't changed," she said after a moment of searching his face and her own heart. "I said yes then, and my answer remains the same." She smiled through the tears filling her eyes and answered him in the same semi-archaic phrasing that he had used. "Stefan Salvatore, I love you and I would gladly share my life with you. Yes. I will be your wife."  
  
His joy earlier was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the blaze that lighted in his eyes at her words. With infinite care, he removed the ring from the box and slid it on her left ring finger as she watched.   
  
That done, they shared a look, then Stefan shifted to sit beside her again and they sealed their promise in the time-honored way: with a kiss.  
  
* * *  
  
He was tired.   
  
Walking half blind and uncaring through the woods in the still night, he stumbled over a protruding root and decided to sit down before he fell flat on his face. He ended up sprawled flat, grass prickling his back.   
  
Oh, yes, he was tired. Fatigued to the depths of his non-existent soul. Worn down by the ever-present pain and the waiting. Burned out. Exhausted.   
  
_Weary unto death._ His lips quirked at the ironic humor he found in that phrase.   
  
The pain, the exhaustion - they threatened to overwhelm him and steal his control.   
  
Even knowing that the pain would swamp him if he let go, the effort it took to cling to his shields was becoming agonizing. The thought of release, of freedom - no matter how false - was very seductive that night.  
  
Between holding Emmet Mogen bound, keeping himself alive from Jason's shot, confronting the Old One, supporting Elena while she Turned the vampires and then dealing with the hunters, his balance was in shreds.   
  
It was an untenable situation. He desperately needed to regain Power but he knew himself enough to know just how dangerous he was with such a weak hold on himself. He might harm someone, might not be able to stop himself before it was too late. And so he could not reach out for the very Power he needed to shore up his shields for fear of-  
  
A tentative contact.   
  
Something flitted on the edges of his consciousness, brushed him with inquiry. His restraint broke, freeing the predatory side of his nature.   
  
The being screamed and tried to flee from this thing of blood and leaves-   
  
Too late.   
  
Later, when Jerrick came back to himself, it was in a rush. There was nothing left of his victim, save a violent eddy in the flow of the ley lines nearby. He was lying in precisely the same location as before. He didn't know if he moved at all, nor how long he had been senseless.   
  
The forest was utterly devoid of life, even to his otherworldy senses; all had fled.   
  
He felt a spurt of emotion- anger, fear, remorse, guilt - then quieted himself to take stock. The Power he had gained was barely adequate, but it gave him a margin to breathe, lifted him above the level of a mindless, starving animal.   
  
Now he could carefully begin to draw Power into himself in ways that were less harmful to others; he had that much control again.   
  
Still, he had to brace himself as he cracked open his shields and drew on a trickle from the ley line. He ground his teeth to keep from screaming at the pain as Power poured into him, burning like fire, scraping like glass on raw flesh.   
  
But what was worse was the way this Power pulled on his borrowed soul and the warp and weft of him seemed ready to tear free from his body.   
  
He slammed the shields shut at last and lay gasping. Sweat beaded and ran down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hair.   
  
He didn't have enough Power to heal himself of the damage from the gunshot, nor to repair the hundred little aches his frail body experienced simply from his everyday demands on it. His shields felt paper thin and his reserves were still drained to the dregs. He managed to bury the pain, muffling the agony to a bearable level. It was never gone, that ache. It was his constant companion, wearing away at him every moment of the day and night.   
  
He was still weak, but at least no longer in danger of losing control. He had endured all he dared for this evening. It would have to do for now.  
  
After a few more minutes, he slowly got to his feet, moving like an old, old man. He fumbled for and found a handkerchief and wiped away the sweat on his face, wondering, as he often did these days, how much more he could bear. Not that he had much choice, he reminded himself bitterly; what else could he do but ride it out?  
  
But he quelled, in the depths of his secret being, at the thought of enduring days and weeks and months of this. He _must_ end it soon. The next move was to find the sixth.   
  
Tomorrow, he would send Eiran out. They would find the last of the brethren. And then...  
  
And then his curse would be broken. 


	54. Chapter Fifty Three: Strife

Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 31 January 2004  
  
* I've revised the total chapter estimate up by one. Hopefully, that will be the final count for real. With this chapter, Leaf hits the 300-page mark on my word processor. It's some milestone of sorts, no? All unlooked for too! ^_^  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
~ Fifty Three ~   
  
Elena woke up alone.   
  
She sat up with a start and listened for Stefan. Perhaps he was in the bathroom.   
  
Silence, as far as her human ears could detect. No sound of a faucet, no hushed movement.   
  
She slid out of bed and strode quickly to the door, snagging a robe on the way. She paused in the corridor, listening. A clatter of china came from the kitchen and a murmur of voices.   
  
Surprised, she tiptoed over to the threshold and peeped in.   
  
There was Stefan, quietly opening cupboards and shutting them when he found nothing but crockery. And with him was Samar, searching more vigorously and muttering under her breath.   
  
The kitchenette in their cabin was largely bare, since there had only been one human mouth to feed and Elena took her meals at the main lodge more often than not. The crackers she kept handy were had been reduced to abandoned crumbs left on the kitchen counter.   
  
Elena took a step inside the kitchen and felt the edges of her lips curl upwards, then a chuckle escaped her. The two searchers looked at her, Stefan sheepish, Samar irate.   
  
They got dressed and trooped to the Lodge, Stefan holding Elena's hand. Samar walked in front of them, alternating between imprecations, choosing her breakfast out loud and falling into contemplative silences, looking around her with new eyes. The latter usually didn't last very long.   
  
Arriving in the large, sunlit kitchen, Elena bit her lip from laughing at the way the two ex-vampires loaded their plates from the buffet spread, but saw many of the newly Turned doing the same.   
  
Taura waved them over to their table, then raised eyebrows pointedly at the overflowing plates. "My, goodness."  
  
"It's my first meal in more than 500 years," Stefan replied with a small smile. He restrained himself enough to let everyone get seated and pick up their own cutlery before diving in.   
  
Elena was not the only one caught between surprise and amusement as she watched Stefan demolish his breakfast. It was not that he was obnoxious about it, just terribly efficient. Samar was probably the only one oblivious to all else - or at least she pretended to be.   
  
He finally leaned back with a barely audible sigh and caught her watching. He had that sheepish look on his face again, and a new, little-boy smile that made her fingers itch to smooth wavy hair back from his face.   
  
"You've eaten human food while you were a vampire," she said, trying to sound normal and not hormonal. She had thought it was his vampiric grace that stole her breath. Now she knew otherwise.   
  
"So how is this different?" he voiced the question underlying her tone. "It is. As a vampire, food may have taste, but does not fulfill. You can eat all you want and you'd still feel empty."  
  
"I'll just bet you don't feel empty now," Taura jibed, earning her a dirty look from Elena.  
  
Samar didn't even bother to look up from the yogurt she was scraping off the bottom of a cup, "If you keep that up, Stefan, you're going to be fat." That earned her another dirty look from Elena, and a dryly-amused one from Stefan.   
  
"Look who's talking," Taura muttered, not quite under her breath enough.  
  
Samar looked up then and tension leapt into the air as the two girls locked gazes. Elena hastily looked for something to break the deadlock. She stood and the sound of her chair scraping across the floor broke the stare down. "I'm going to volunteer to get groceries." Feeding a horde this size took some doing. "We can pick up some things for the cabin while we're at it, Samar."  
  
Not quite the most graceful exit line. Samar's face lighted up, then closed. She threw a sharp look at the petite huntress and then got to her feet and stalked off. Elena put her hands Stefan's shoulders, standing behind his chair. He covered her fingers with his own, but not before the sharp-eyed huntress noted the extra sparkle there.   
  
"What's that?" she demanded, as if it wasn't obvious.  
  
Elena smiled at her, not trying to hide her happiness.   
  
A single, breathless pause. "You proposed?" Taura asked Stefan.   
  
He nodded. Elena could not see his expression from where she stood but his hand squeezed hers gently as he did so.   
  
Taura returned the sharp look to Elena. "I take it you accepted."   
  
The blonde merely continued to smile, and it was answer enough.   
  
Taura's brown eyes sparked in a way that made Elena faintly nervous. Whatever mischief the huntress was thinking about was interrupted by a mild voice behind her.   
  
"Then congratulations are in order."  
  
Stefan must have felt the way she stiffened. He rose and nodded politely to Jerrick. Gently, he drew her around as well.   
  
She lifted eyes that had gone flat, the joy faded from them. Her mouth was unsmiling as she looked at him. Her chin tilted in a defiant angle.   
  
"Thank you," she heard Stefan say graciously as she continued to have her stare-down with the red-haired man.   
  
"I can see Samar waiting for us to leave. Excuse us," Stefan went on when she remained stonily silent.   
  
Jerrick canted to his head, the epitome of civility.   
  
Elena caught a glimpse of a wary-looking Taura as she let Stefan lead her away.   
  
They got the grocery list from one of the witches who had taken over the running of the kitchen and the three of them set off to the Porsche, which was parked in the cabin garage.   
  
Samar stomped ahead, either impatient or still irked from her exchange with Taura.   
  
Stefan stopped suddenly when the feisty girl was out of sight through the trees and pulled Elena into his arms with no warning.   
  
"Stefan," she said, cheek pressed to his sweater. There was a note of questioning in her tone, even as she felt some tension leave her.   
  
"Everything will be all right," he breathed into her hair.   
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, but again, felt as if a load were lifting from her at his words.   
  
"There is nothing to stand in our way now, Elena." His arms around her tightened for emphasis. "Jerrick cannot do anything to us."   
  
With a start, she realized that he had interpreted her hostility to Jerrick more accurately than she had. She had been defensive, afraid that the knowledge of her engagement would give Jerrick another hold over her, something else to threaten and manipulate her with.   
  
No, she vowed, he was not going to stop us. She buried her face in the soft, comforting wool of his sweater, feeling much better.   
  
"Hey, Stefan, has one meal turned you into a slow poke already?" Samar called, coming back to look for them.   
  
"No," he said, with unruffled good humor. His arms loosened enough for Elena to face Samar, but they continued to circle her waist. "But one does not hurry when one is with such a beautiful woman," he added and Elena felt her eyes roll back to try and look at him at this uncharacteristic comeback.   
  
Samar let out a disgusted, "Ew!" and disappeared again.   
  
Elena felt Stefan quiver a little and tilted her head up to see his lips twitching against laughter. He's so changed, she marveled momentarily. There was a calm, a relaxation about him now, as if a dark cloud that had hung over him had been dispelled.   
  
In a way, it had. He was, at last, free of the bloodlust that had so shadowed his days.   
  
"From what we saw yesterday between her and Leon, that reaction can't be all real," he murmured, still watching where Samar had gone. He looked at her with smile that made her want to melt.   
  
She leaned back against him, only partly because her knees suddenly went weak.   
  
He planted a kiss on her temple, then pressed his lips to the bare skin where her neck and her shoulder met. He blew out a soft breath and went still.   
  
She shivered. "Stefan?" she asked when he remained quiet.   
  
"This is different too." At her sound of inquiry, he explained. "Whenever I held you like this before, I could always feel hunger, that ache in my jaw." He planted a soft kiss there before lifting his head. The green eyes were solemn, but not unhappily so. "Now, there is only love and longing, no hunger; it's much better."   
  
She lifted a hand to touch his face and he pressed his cheek to her palm, eyes closed. She felt an answering twinge at the look of complete happiness on his face. "I love you, Stefan Salvatore."  
  
"Ti amo, Elena Gilbert." The soft avowal was said with a faint smile, then he opened his eyes and took her hand. "Let's get back before Samar tears the cabin apart."  
  
* * *  
  
"Yes, Jerrick."   
  
Pause. "Of course." Click.  
  
Eiran stood, head bowed over the phone for a moment before facing his team. A hot, humid breeze blew in through the open window. Sounds from the bustling industry in the streets below floated up.   
  
The Old One had left India, moving for the first time in centuries according to Jerrick. What little information they had found seemed to suggest that the Old One had disappeared almost a month ago. The timing did not synch with when Emmet Mogen had contacted him, three weeks ago.   
  
So, had it been chance and coincidence that the Old One had chosen to move at this, of all times?   
  
Eiran shook his head. Speculation got you nowhere. He faced his team. "He has heard nothing. We go on as we have," he told them, trying not to sound exhausted.   
  
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't going to be the quick scout mission we thought it was going to be?" Alvin Maples asked. He was slouching languidly on one of the rattan chairs, long legs stretched in front of him and his tone was an odd combination of comfort and disgruntlement.   
  
"If it had been, Jerrick would be here himself and we'd be planning how to nab our guy by now," Terry Kerisol said, coolly logical. She didn't _look_ cool; her short hair was plastered to her head, face and neck and she had undone the first button of her shirt - and the last three. She lounged near the window, hoping to catch as much breeze as possible.   
  
Alvin lifted a finger, took aim and sent a visible bolt at one of the two remaining buttons still fastened on that blouse.   
  
The diviner/combat witch barely opened her eyes as she flicked it aside, sending it back to him with a wave of her hand. The trajectory was wrong and it left a scorch mark above one of the wall fixtures.   
  
"Children," Eiran murmured in reproof. There was less fire in the reaction than there would usually have been; they were all rather worn out after a month of all-out hunting. It had been all right the first week; and then their activities had been noted and there had been... feints.   
  
Not outright attacks. More the nature of probes, testing their strength. It forced them into constant guard, divided their attention from the mission, wore at them along with the weather and the cultural disorientation.   
  
He looked from the flirty/combative pair to the rest of this team; Nelson, his old training partner under Elsa, cheerful Jasmine, their healer, and Max.   
  
Max Goldan had been a vampire hunter once, before he had been bitten by one of his would-be kills out of sheer spite. Needless to say, he had been a less-than-happy camper by the time the Turned found him.   
  
"We've tracked him this far," he said quietly, after making made eye contact with each. The words were meant to be encouraging, reminding them of what they had accomplished.   
  
"Yeah. All the way from Leh to Dehli to Mumbai," Alvin reminded lazily. Then he sat up, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. "But how much further do we have to go?"  
  
Eiran could only shrug. "That is anyone's guess. The leads point here. Maybe Terry will be able to unearth something for us."  
  
"She'd better; it's her job," Alvin muttered.  
  
"I heard that."  
  
"Meant you to."  
  
Eiran shot Alvin a quelling look and the witch grinned back unrepentantly. "Nelson and I have first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep, while you can," he said. "Tomorrow, Terry, we'll do a scry. Then we hit the streets."  
  
* * *  
  
A fist slammed into her jaw, snapping her head around. Pain stabbed down her neck at the unforgiving movement. She backpedaled, shaking her head to clear the black stars blossoming in her vision, her hands going up defensively.   
  
Her eyes cleared enough to let her see Taura standing in a matching pose, stance firm, eyes direct. "Had enough?" she asked.   
  
Samar drew a deep breath and bared her teeth. Anger fluttered inside her, like a live being trying to get out. She took a single, deliberate step. The next propelled her full force towards the other girl. In the midst of her rush, she pivoted, sending all her momentum into a tight spin. Her right leg came up at right angles with the left and she leaned sideways for balance.   
  
The foot caught Taura in the chest and she heard the breath whoosh out of the huntress, but that was all. The huntress didn't budge. Samar felt shock. Taura was supposed to have flown at least two feet back from that hit!  
  
Then fingers clamped around her ankle and yanked her off balance. She collapsed on the ground and had time to blink once before a dainty foot pressed to her windpipe.   
  
"Consider yourself dead. Now do you believe me?" Taura asked. She didn't wait for an answer, but removed the foot and stepped back.   
  
She actually turned her back as she walked away. The fool.  
  
Samar didn't remember getting up; the sight of the unguarded back lent her impetus enough to stand and lunge. She tackled Taura from behind before the huntress could turn around.  
  
What followed was ugly and ruthless. There was no grace, no rhythm or balance in that scuffle. Clothes were torn, lips bloodied, knuckles too. Hair flew and was just another weapon against the opponent.   
  
Both combatants sported cuts and bruises galore before Taura managed to shove Samar off her. She rose into crouch, getting her feet back under her instantly, like a cat, while Samar glared, flat on her back.   
  
"Are you crazy?" she shrilled, glaring. Her hand reached into her pocket and flipped out a knife.   
  
She had had that weapon on her all along and never even bothered to bring it out, Samar realized. The knowledge didn't make her happier at all.   
  
"You started this," Samar reminded. Her words came out hard and throaty, her neck felt bruised.   
  
"I'll _finish_ it," Taura vowed and started forward. She stopped, raised the blade in front of her face and apparently changed her mind. She folded it, then slipped it away - but not back into her pocket where Samar might be able to reach it. She actually put it down her top, the little slut!  
  
They came together.   
  
Samar threw blow after blow; Taura blocked them all, barely seeming affected by them. The huntress' hits, on the other hand, were many and palpable.   
  
Taura had been courteous earlier. She had given Samar a chance to call it quits between blows, had give Samar a chance too regain her feet when she fell.  
  
Not anymore.   
  
The seventeenth - or eighteenth? - time Samar struggled to get up before Taura closed on her, the others arrived. Leon headed straight for her, cradling and subduing her at once. She struggled to get free and continue fighting, but her efforts were weak at best and there was no contest.   
  
She noted that Taura looked as ill-used as she felt, although the huntress seemed able to stand with no problem. Heck, she didn't even look out of breath. Samar felt envy along with the battle-rush.  
  
Tristan looked torn between avenging his sister and yelling at her. Makoe wordlessly moved between the two girls.   
  
"Taura, what is this?" Elena asked. Leon had wrestled Samar to the ground by then and the blonde knelt beside the pair, touching the girl's puffy face with a gentle finger. Samar winced and glared at Elena for making her show weakness.   
  
Taura ground out her reply, anger in every word. "The little freak attacked me. From behind."  
  
Samar opened her mouth to protest the 'freak' loudly, but Elena cut in.  
  
"Why?" The blonde looked from one girl to another, as if not sure as to who she should direct the question to.  
  
"I told her she needed to stop stuffing her face and start learning to fight. That she's useless without her vampiric strength and speed. She didn't believe me and I proved it to her."   
  
"This goes a bit beyond 'proof,' Taura."  
  
"The sneak couldn't take the truth. That's when she came at me. She just didn't know when to quit, Elena!" There was an almost plaintive note in the huntress' voice.   
  
"And you are so poor a fighter that you cannot disable your opponent without maiming them?" The quiet challenge became a stinging insult coupled with Makoe's frigid tone.   
  
It drew a black scowl from the huntress. "Look, I was just trying to help. She really _is_ helpless now; she had to know that - she can't go around harboring illusions of prowess - and she's got to do something to fix that. We are in the middle of a fight here and we don't need any deadweight," Taura flared, not giving an inch.   
  
That shut everyone up rather effectively.   
  
Samar, more or less quiet in Leon's arms, was caught between fuming and surprise. The huntress actually sounded as if she were genuinely concerned, not just derisive. Not that the concern made the truth any easier to swallow.   
  
"Fine," she snapped, and Leon helped her to sit up, still keeping a grip on her. "I'll join the rest of the Turned in training. Happy?"   
  
Makoe turned partially to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I have a better idea," he said smoothly.   
  
Samar looked at him, and it was an appraising look.   
  
In the days since she'd been Turned, it had been... awkward. She had felt his gaze more than once, particularly when she was around Leon. They had barely spoken, and when they did, she was icily polite.  
  
She wasn't sure she was ready to forgive and let live; she wasn't sure she ever would be. On the other hand, what grudge was there left to hold? She was with Leon. Makoe meant nothing to her. He should not affect her in any way.   
  
Except, of course, for that little matter of tearing her heart to shreds and never flicking an eyelash over it. Or, perhaps, it was the way just having his eyes on her made her terribly self-conscious and she was afraid of what that meant.   
  
Please, please, don't let me still have feelings for that cold-blooded snake.  
  
She leaned back against Leon. Now that she had stopped trying to go for Taura's neck, he had released her, simply sitting there like an unresponsive vampiric backrest. Now there was a whole different mess, but she couldn't think about that right now.   
  
If she and Makoe had had little contact, she was pretty sure that he and the huntress had none. It was not just that they had kept to the cabin and hadn't been terribly sociable. It was how Taura eyed him like someone else would eye a slug.   
  
Which meant, in a roundabout way, that she actually had no reason to dislike Taura. If anything, shared contempt for Makoe should make them buxom buddies.   
  
Makoe took silence for assent and continued, "Taura can train Samar. And I'll train Taura."  
  
Samar felt her lips part. Her reaction was so jumbled that they seemed to have clogged each other, so nothing actually came out. Skepticism, outrage, scorn, a tiny bit of self-conscious thrill, uncertainty.   
  
"Got a high opinion of yourself, don't you?" Taura taunted.   
  
Makoe faced the huntress full on, giving Samar his back again. "Let's just say I have no illusions about myself."   
  
Taura actually snorted. "I think none of us have illusions about you," she said, laying emphasis on the last word.   
  
Samar nearly smiled; a nasty smile. A hit! A palpable hit!  
  
"Do _you_ have any of yourself?" Makoe countered, unfazed.  
  
Taura laughed, a biting sound. "You're not going to get me so easily, vamp."  
  
"Your teaching Samar will be more effective than me, since you are human. It would only be fair that you received training in turn," Makoe said logically. There was no inflection in his tone. His stance was uncaring, as if it made no difference to him whether they agreed or not.   
  
He crossed the distance between himself and the huntress and added, in a voice as smooth as gelato, "We both know there are things I can teach you."  
  
Samar could barely believe her ears! Was he actually trying to _flirt_ her into acquiescence?   
  
Taura apparently didn't like his tone any more than Samar did. She hit him.   
  
Or tried to.   
  
For the next ten minutes, Taura attacked Makoe. She even pulled out the blade. He never struck, merely blocked and countered her every move, barehanded. But it was enough; she was hurt... and human. He didn't need to exert himself to match her. He didn't even get a cut.  
  
Watching them, Samar knew what she had looked like, trying to best Taura. The realization was disheartening.   
  
Eventually, Makoe tired of the game.   
  
The next time Taura took a swipe at him, he caught her hand and twisted. The movement locked her arm at a painful angle and he pulled her other hand in a different direction, immobilizing her.   
  
He quirked an eyebrow. "Well?"  
  
Samar saw a flash of teeth in the huntress' face. He murmured something she couldn't quite catch and Taura tossed a look her way.   
  
"Fine," she snapped, then jerked her arms furiously. "Let me go."  
  
But Makoe had already released her before she had finished the demand and moved away, all icy detachment again.   
  
They all watched Taura stalk off to the main lodge before Leon and Tristan bundled her back to the cabin like a pair of fussy, bloodsucking hens.   
  
They got out the first aid kit, which made her roll her eyes. What were a few cuts and bruises? She conveniently ignored the way her body ached, protesting the beating she had subjected it to.   
  
They sent her into the washroom to clean up and she stared at herself in the mirror. Okay, so she did look rather frightening. No wonder they'd fetched the kit.   
  
Lip cut in two places, swelling at one cheek right up to around her eye - she would have a beaut of a black eye come morning - scratch across the temple to add insult to injury, hair in wild disarray, the neck and one sleeve of her top torn, showing the angry red line of another scratch over her collarbone. More cuts down her arms and bruises all over.  
  
Her neck ached, so did her shoulders. She flexed her arms experimentally. Yep, aches. Same with back, ribs and legs. She was a real piece of work.  
  
Tristan had run hands over her limbs and ribs; nothing broken, he had reassured, between acid remarks about the foolhardiness of younger siblings and how this would never have happened if she had been a vampire.   
  
She agreed privately with the last but she'd never admit to it. Being human really wasn't all she had thought. A vamp would have healed most of these by now. As a vamp, she would not even have taken most of this damage.  
  
Sighing, and shaking her head slightly, she cleaned up, wincing a little as soap and water got into the open cuts.   
  
Getting the cuts treated was... interesting. Stefan and Elena had gone to the lodge to get a status update from Jerrick, which left the vamps. Tristan was well nigh useless and Samar winced hard enough when she tried to apply the iodine herself that she was not much better. There was no way she was letting Makoe near her, so that left Leon.   
  
He was fine with the cuts on her arms but there was a cut high up on the back of her arm, trailing from her shoulder to halfway to her elbow. That one she had to pull aside the T-shirt for and she watched him in the mirror. He attempted to dab iodine on the cut without actually looking at it - or her.   
  
This was the guy she was supposed to be dating and he was embarrassed to be looking at a bit of extra skin. Insert eyeroll here.   
  
There was a small bottle of ointment to help soothe her strained muscles and act as a partial painkiller. She firmly shut the door on her would-be nursemaids and took care of that herself. If Leon had had trouble with the iodine, he might spontaneously combust if she asked him to apply the oil on her bruises. Especially considering how they were scattered all over her body.   
  
She felt black depression descend on her.   
  
She stoppered the bottle and laid it on the nightstand, then hugged her stuffed toy, feeling the sides of her mouth curl downwards as if pulled by weights.   
  
It had been three weeks since she had been Turned. She had tried to spend time with Leon, quality time that a couple needs to get to know each other and build a relationship. There had been walks in the woods. Some television. He had taken her into the city for ice cream or other whimsies when she'd asked. They had spent hours reading, which was surprisingly pleasant.   
  
Curled up on the sofa together, taking turns sharing something from the books they were reading - though she had done more of that than he - it was the sweetest times and the most intimate moments they shared. In those hours, she was happy.   
  
It was as if, with books, he could relax his stuffy guard and just be with her without worrying about propriety.   
  
Oh, yes, she knew he was distant because that was how he thought a gentleman should treat a lady, particularly one he loved. She knew that in her head, but she wanted to be held and cuddled and her heart didn't care if he had noble reasons for not doing so. She didn't feel respected and cherished; she felt neglected - or worse, undesirable.   
  
She had tried to tell him but there were some things even she could not bring herself to utter and saying outright that she wanted to make out was one of them. And besides, what girl had to tell a guy that she wanted _that_? It was unnatural!  
  
She ranted all this to her stuffed toy and it seemed to nod and sympathize. She stared at its solemn, agreeable face until she felt a smile tug up the corners of her mouth and felt a bit better.   
  
* * *  
  
After Elena left - none too happy, either - Jerrick sat in his well-stuffed armchair before the fire.   
  
He had hid his anxiety, his barely leashed impatience. Eiran had been searching for three weeks now and so far, the chase has been fruitless. His other operatives have also been silent; there was no hint as to where the Old One might be. He had disappeared from India a month ago. Why? Where had he gone?   
  
The lack of success was trying, particularly with the lame man's waning strength making him irritable and all but helpless. He had had to put up the barrier holding the vampires that day when the first of the Turned arrived with their 'recruits'.   
  
Jerrick knew that with each passing day, the Turned would come back with more vampires and he would have to enlarge and strengthen the barrier. The expenditure of energy was... if not exactly begrudged, it was certainly not happily given.  
  
The wellsprings of Power within him was achingly empty; he had not had as much success as he had thought in regaining his strength.   
  
Perhaps it was because the end was so near at hand that his will was starting to fray. Now that he could begin to think about a time when he would be free and rid of this ache in his soul, the immensity of his situation was threatening to come crashing down on him.   
  
He rose without the fluidity he had once possessed, and stumped out the door, cane in hand. The walking stick was no longer an affectation; it had become a necessity.   
  
As he passed through the corridor, he saw Madelene look up with concern.   
  
"I'm just going for a walk. A bit of fresh air will do me good," he reassured her.   
  
She had reason for concern; her healer's gift had called her to his side on more than one occasion in the past week. She knew well just how frail he was.   
  
She merely nodded agreement, trusting him to know his own limits.   
  
He emerged into the night and paused, surveying the dark treeline. Almost reluctantly, he moved towards them and passed beneath the boughs.   
  
He was caught in a quandary; his inherited Powers still threatened to rend his being in half and to drink of that cup was to suffer more than he gained.   
  
And yet, it was at least possible to draw Power from that source. His own gifts of mind - telepathy, empathy - were denied him due to his weakness. He was unable to wield the energy generated from the emotions of others, to tame it and make it his own. His control was so poor - so shockingly fragile - that he knew he would drain them dry, or spin their worst terrors in their minds to beget more Power.   
  
To stand at the balcony of a club and open himself to Power, as he had once done, was to invite madness and slaughter.   
  
Slaughter that his borrowed Powers would never accept. He could not afford to have that half of his soul that belonged to those Powers turn on him, or to shrivel and perish.   
  
And so he was relegated to this living as half the shade of the man he had been.   
  
He limped along, his feet finding their own aimless path. Then his otherworldly consciousness came across something and he stopped.   
  
This was the site of Samar and Taura's fight. He knew this without a doubt; the ley lines told the story of strife and struggled and blood spilled in this spot.   
  
He stood, and closed his eyes, feeling the Power, tasting it.   
  
A sigh rode the night wind, one of almost bliss. Here was energy he could take without worry of maiming someone, one that belonged to his gifts, not... _hers_.   
  
He opened himself to it, took it in, sipping like it was the most delicate vintage. He took his time, knowing that this scuffle would barely ease the edge of his need, but hungry enough not to refuse even this meager meal.   
  
* * *  
  
Terry let out a soft breath, the only sound in the silent room.   
  
"Nothing," she said finally.   
  
Alvin looked like he was stifling a groan, the rest looked disappointed as well. Their third day in Mumbai and Terry had not found any clues for them; they spent the days wandering blindly, hoping to come across something by chance.   
  
So far, they had found nothing.   
  
Eiran frowned. "Vampires. Look for anything relating to vampires." He wished there was something - or someone - with them that could be used to help Terry focus her search, but none of the searchers were vampires. Unless...  
  
"Max, you don't have anything belonging to a vampire, do you?"   
  
The hunter/ex-vampire looked surprised. "Well, actually," he started and tucked his hair behind one ear, showing an earstud.   
  
A familiar deep blue stone glowed in its silver setting.   
  
Eiran held out his hand and the gruff Turned removed it and dropped it in his hand.   
  
"Terry?"   
  
"In the bowl. Please." She kept her eyes closed, focused on a different kind of sight.   
  
The earring made a soft splash as it hit the water and rippled the surface before it settled back to mirror-like smoothness.   
  
Silence again. They all watched the bowl. Or her face.   
  
"There's someone... a woman," she murmured.   
  
"Describe her."  
  
"I can't see clearly enough. All I can tell is that she's pale-skinned and black-haired."  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"I have a sense of water. But also of... marble? Blood... but not a vampire. Trees and stone, great age." Terry was getting agitated, her words coming rushed and confused.   
  
Eiran put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, without thinking. Her head jerked and her words cut off. But-  
  
Alvin drew a sharp breath and pointed at the bowl.   
  
The surface clouded over, becoming flat like paper. An image formed, a woman's face.   
  
Eiran stared for a long moment, then met Alvin's eyes, seeking confirmation. He nodded, all the affirmation needed.   
  
The last time they had seen that face, there had been a lapis lazuli gracing that brow, set in a circlet of pure quartz. The tall, elegant woman had been sprawled senselessly across the marble floor of Athanasia Omar's palace.   
  
The image faded and Terry swayed under his hand. He caught her, steadied her. "What happened there, Terry?" he asked. Jasmine handed him a hot cup of something and he held it up to the diviner's lips.   
  
She took a sip before answering him. "You said to look for vampires. I took the impression from the earring and extrapolated it, let it direct me. It found that woman but the link was too weak. Then _you_ touched me," and she gave him a displeased look that said, 'don't do that again', "And it was like the link was jolted. Strong enough for me to actually form the image." The look slid to puzzlement. "You became the focus."  
  
Alvin interjected before Eiran could think of an intelligent reply. "That's because he is Turned. So is she. The earring... well, it's Max's and he's not a vampire anymore." Alvin shrugged.   
  
A question popped into Eiran's head. "Terry, did you get a feel as to where that woman is when the link strengthened?"  
  
The diviner sat up while she thought of that question. She took hold of the cup and cradled it in her hands a she sipped.   
  
"She's nearby, otherwise, I wouldn't have picked up on her. I saw the docks that we passed yesterday. I remember that blue boat moored on the jetty."  
  
Eiran turned his eyes to the bare wood of the floor, staring in thought. The rest waited for him to speak. "If she is here," he began slowly, thinking out loud. "And the trail led here and ends..." he trailed off, then resumed.  
  
"If he saw her. She would not remember him; Jerrick said all their memories were wiped. But he might recognize her. There is a high possibility she was Athanasia Omar's consort. If the sixth recognized her...if he sensed that she was Turned."   
  
He looked up to find them all watching him expectantly.   
  
"Terry, Alvin and I will look for her tomorrow. Maybe talk to her. The rest of you, start packing."  
  
"Why?" Nelson asked, looking mystified.   
  
"If my hunch is correct, seeing a Turned whom he knew was one of another Old One's followers would make our target go rushing off looking for answers," Eiran said slowly. "Which would send him straight to the last known location of the other Old One. "  
  
He looked them each in the eye and his words were heavy. "We're going to Antalya."   
  
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* As mentioned in the previous update, here are some things I've been wondering about. Comments pertaining to these are much appreciated. All questions are meant generally, not specific to this chapter.  
1. Do you find my fight scenes too technical and overloaded (weighed down) with tedious details?  
2. Which character's personality would you say is most vivid and why do you say so?  
3. What is the scene/plot that sticks most in your mind thus far?  
  
That's it for this time. If you prefer to reply via email -- instead of a FFN review, since response to these might be rather detailed -- feel free to email leian_c @ yahoo.com. Spaces included as primitive spam-guard. ^_^  
  
Thanks for reading! 


	55. Chapter Fifty Four: Downward Spiral

Summary: There was a price to pay for Elena coming back. To win a life with Stefan and her own humanity back, she must fulfill her promise to destroy the Old Ones.  
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 15 February 2004  
  
* Welcome to the longest chapter in the story to date. At 13k words, it's more than twice as long as the previous few installments. There's been a change in my formatting. I'm nailing dates on each of the scenes. From this point on, there will be intervals when nothing happens and the dates will indicate how much time has passed between one scene and the next. The dates are based on the actual 1993 calendar, so if you catch me in an error, please point it out. ^_^   
  
Chapter 55 is done but I'm having trouble with the last two chapters. *plays chicken with the wall* I intend to post the remaining three chapters in a fairly short space of time.. say, every other day. So I'll need to finish the entire story before the next update comes.  
  
Thank you, Moreta, for the huge, marvelous comment-laden email! Oh, and remember the time I said 'all hell just broke loose'...? *grins*  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Chapter countdown: 3  
  
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~ Fifty Four ~  
  
(12 September 1993)  
  
The palace was in shambles.   
  
It had been less than two months since Elena came to unmake the Old One. The elaborate gardens were going slightly wild. The hardier plants were creeping over the edges of their pots and trellises, the frailer ones withering.   
  
The building itself stood but it was abandoned, gutted, looted. The graceful marble walls were smoke-stained. The rich wall hangings were shredded, left to be trodden underfoot. Whatever decorations that were worth money had been removed. Items of little value had been scattered carelessly during the search and remained where they had fallen.   
  
Eiran wondered if this was Jerrick's operatives' doing or if someone else had used the palace for a hideout in the time since it had been invaded. He doubted the latter; it had been too short a time for another to discover this remote location.   
  
Perhaps it was Elena's pain over this entire fiasco that had transmitted itself to him; he looked about and saw with eyes shadowed with regret: that a people who had once lived in such peace, joy and beauty should be utterly crushed.   
  
He resisted the urge to wander, lost in memories of the attack, wrapped in thoughts of Elena. Instead, he forced himself to focus on business and called for a reconnaissance first.  
  
Max dropped his pack in a corner where it would disturb little - having first examined it - and proceeded to quarter the place. He told the rest to stay put. There was a patina of dust on the marble floor that held clues and having them traipse about obliviously might destroy any tracks that had been made.   
  
On a hunch, Eiran directed him to the Old One's chamber.   
  
The hunter prowled the room, then came to a fairly central spot. "Take a look at this," he said softly, beckoning.   
  
Eiran joined him, matching the hunter's position by resting on his haunches.   
  
"You said people were last here two months ago?"   
  
Eiran nodded. "There _shouldn't_ be any tracks then since the floor had been clean," he added thoughtfully.   
  
Max agreed, turning his attention to the ground. "See here, all the way down the corridor and around the room." He drew a circle in the air above the floor and Eiran thought he could make out a disturbance, a clear spot in the dust.   
  
"That's a paw print. A mighty big wolf, unless I miss my guess. And here," he moved a bit, drawing another circle in the air, this one larger. "That's a human footprint. Bare." He sat back on his heels and looked up at Eiran meaningfully. "That's the only footprint in the room; no human tracks leading to this spot. Both tracks are no more than a month old. See how more dust has settled on the print so it's not completely clean?"  
  
Eiran frowned, echoing his movement but staring at the floor. The arch of the foot and the toes was actually quite visible now that it had been pointed out. "Werewolf?" he speculated.   
  
Max shrugged and rose. "Maybe. Give me a couple more minutes, then if we can't find anything else, we can get Terry in here to do her thing."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, they were all in the chamber, kneeling or sitting on the dusty ground in a circle around the footprint. Terry had poured some water from a canteen into a bowl and placed it in front of her knees.   
  
"What do I look for?" she asked, looking at Eiran.  
  
He let his eyes roam the room, thoughtful. They were searching for clues of the sixth's whereabouts. He, or a minion, had been in this room. At least, that was the premise. "Use the mark. See what you can find out about the one who made it," he instructed. "A location would be good."  
  
He had little hope of results; Terry's reach was limited and it was unlikely that the Old One or his creatures were still in the area after a month. But it was a start and the best case he could think of.   
  
Terry frowned down at the track. Eiran had a feeling she disapproved that the print was something she couldn't toss into her bowl. He refrained from comment, letting her wield her gift.   
  
Her eyes closed and everyone fell silent, waiting. Jasmine saw it first and hissed softly; a ghostly form appeared, four-legged and huge. It came padding in behind Terry and passed right through her to stop at the edge of the circle.   
  
Eiran dared to lean forward and peer through the half-seen image: its paw rested over the mark in the dust.   
  
It paused, nose to the ground. Then its head came back and its throat opened in a silent howl.   
  
The image blurred then, and Eiran thought Terry was losing control of the scry, but the wolf changed, reformed. A lean man with golden skin crouched there, fingertips resting on the ground. Fine straight hair trailed like a black river down his back, pooling on the ground. He stayed like that for a long moment, eyes closed. His lips moved finally, then he opened his eyes and Eiran could see that they glowed like jade discs.   
  
The ghostly figure rose, took one step forward, then there was a flutter of feathers and a dove winged out the window into the garden.   
  
They all stared at the window for a time after that. Finally, Alvin muttered, "I guess there are tracks even you can't read, Max." The jibe seemed to break the spell.   
  
Eiran turned back to the diviner to find her sitting still, eyes tightly shut. "Terry?"  
  
"There is something..." she trailed off, a strain in her voice.   
  
The rest were instantly attentive.   
  
The hand that had been hovering near the track in the dust suddenly slapped against the ground, fingers spread, palm flat. Dust skittered away and then, the room was a whirl of ethereal sights and sounds. A hundred voices suddenly rose, ringing out in laughter. The rest of the palace was alight, as could be seen through the windows and doors leading into the courtyard.  
  
They were surrounded.   
  
At first, they saw no one. Then figures coalesced all around them.  
  
Max and Alvin were on their feet, hair-trigger reflexes propelling them to reach for weapons. But blade and witchfire passed through the gossamer shapes harmlessly. Eiran grabbed Alvin's elbow and Nelson held a hand up to stop Max from advancing. Jasmine moved to hover over Terry, who was still locked in the grip of some Power.  
  
"Wait. They're not real. They're just... memories," Eiran said in a hushed tone, eyes on one inhumanly beautiful figure.   
  
"Memories?" Max asked, adrenaline transmuting into fury. "Whose?"  
  
Eiran didn't answer. He got up and walked to the doors leading to the gardens. Diagonal across the courtyard, he could see more figures dancing in the golden glow of the main hall. The ethereal lights cast everything in warmth. Laughter spilled with the light out the double doors, and music.   
  
A young girl ran out of the hall, smiling a secret smile. Her hair flew behind her, multicolored beads anchoring the ends.   
  
He recognized her; she had been lying beside Elena when they found them and there had been blood on her hands. Elena's blood. And the knife that lay in Elena's heart had been hers.   
  
A male vampire followed soon after. His lips moved but Eiran couldn't make out what was said. He disappeared down the garden paths after the girl.   
  
Nelson yelped, making Eiran turn away from the little drama.   
  
The figure crossing the room was _not_ ghostly. He looked as solid as any member of the team, yet as Eiran watched, the figure strode right into Alvin - and passed right through him.   
  
There was more than one of him. At least eight clones of the powerfully-built man was doing various things around the room at once; dressing, reading, speaking to a more insubstantial-looking figure, bathing, eating, sleeping, playing some sort of game...  
  
Eiran knew him, just as Alvin did. He knew the beautiful face, that powerful body. He had seen it once, lying in hiding and watching the Old One enter his chambers were Elena waited to deal with him.   
  
Athanasia Omar, Elena had called him.   
  
The girl Eiran had been watching earlier dashed through the doors and flew into the arms of one of the Old One's images. Her figure was more translucent than his but visible. He engulfed her, then turned his head to let her whisper into his ear. Whatever she said made him throw back his head and laugh. The girl smiled, pleased with herself.  
  
The walls seemed to vibrate and groan.   
  
Terry cried out. Her hand jerked away from the floor as if scalded and everything disappeared as if a switch had been thrown. The diviner collapsed sideways against Jasmine, clutching her head. "What... the hell..." she gasped out, weak but heartfelt.   
  
Max looked ready to kill something; his nerves were drawn so tight. Nelson was wild-eyed too. Alvin was self-contained - far too restrained to be characteristic.   
  
Eiran shook himself and walked over to the two women.   
  
"This is an Old One's Palace. Or was, once," he reminded Terry gently. His voice slid low, becoming a bit abstract. He remembered Elena telling him about the Old One. His eyes wandered the room as he spoke. "He lived here for hundreds of years. He sculpted the walls with his Power. They still resonate with that Power, and therefore, with the essence of him."  
  
"Are you sure you have no witch blood in you? You talk psychic mumbo-jumbo like a natural," Terry muttered, watching him with her head on Jasmine's shoulder. Her ruffled calm was smoothing. Jasmine helped her right herself and she put a hand to her head as if it would fall off without the support. "Hell, Eiran, it's getting so a girl can't do a straight scry around you without something crazy happening!"  
  
Eiran smiled, becoming less detached.   
  
The rest came back together, visibly trying to shake that bizarre experience off.   
  
"So.. what now?" Nelson spoke up.   
  
No one answered at once. They stared at each other blankly. Now it was Eiran's turn to rub his head and sigh.   
  
"We came here looking for hints about where the sixth Old One might be. What we saw was a shapeshifter - possibly a scout. We don't know what he found, but we do know that someone came around here before we did," he recapped.  
  
"Uh-huh.. and that means, what?" Max asked testily.   
  
"Oh, hush, Max," Jasmine scolded. "He's trying to think."  
  
"Trying," Max retorted, but he did so quietly.   
  
Silence fell again. Eiran got up and walked around the room. He traced the walls, one hand trailing the irregular surface. He had completed half the circuit before he stopped.   
  
"Terry."  
  
They were all looking at him expectantly. The diviner lifted her chin in silent inquiry.  
  
"You found the woman with Max's earring - and me - as a focus. Because we were all Turned." He waited for her to nod agreement to that statement. "Could you find one Old One with an object from another Old One?"  
  
He watched her weigh that question, watched her eyes follow his hand where it rested on the wall. Watched her eyes widen. Her head started going from side to side. "Oh no, you don't...no no no..."  
  
He took his hand off the wall and started walking towards her, speaking persuasively. "The Power in the Palace will boost your range, if we can harness it. Alvin, Jasmine?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the diviner.   
  
"Elena would channel the Power at me and Maddy and Trent but that was wild Power from the Old One's unmaking," the combat witch said. He was also looking around the room with new eyes. "I won't know if I can do anything when it's tied to something else. Not until the Power is awakened again, like it was earlier."   
  
Jasmine shrugged, neither agreeing nor objecting.   
  
Eiran crouched in front of Terry so that they were at eye level with each other. She was too stubborn to look away first. "If you can link to Alvin and Jasmine, we'll see if they can back you up," he said, sounding more reassuring than authoritative. He kept his voice under control, easing her to acquiescence, not forcing it.   
  
He waited patiently, keeping eye contact, letting her take her time.  
  
At last, she gave a little shudder and looked away. "Okay."  
  
They reassembled around the little bowl. Terry rested both hands flat on the floor. The insubstantial images and sounds resumed almost instantly. Alvin and Jasmine each put a hand on her shoulder. The male witch removed his after a while and shook his head silently; there was nothing he could do.   
  
Jasmine stayed locked with Terry. The images receded, slowly, slowly, so that at first the fading was barely perceptible.   
  
As silence returned, the bowl clouded over, as if all the images were being sucked into the water. All four men watched intently. Only Eiran - and to a lesser extent, Alvin - recognized the images appearing.  
  
They recognized the skyline of the first image easily enough; Seattle, the Baron mansion. The image changed: a dank, cobble-stone street in Quebec. Then the image blurred again and the marble Palace glowed briefly in the bowl, then became a tall, glass-fronted building: Birmingham, and Emson McModrey's office. Then the temple in Leh where they had picked up the trail for the sixth  
  
The water filmed over, roiled like milk. There was one last image; a globe appeared in the opaque depths, turning east to west. The continents glowed red against the bluer 'seas' as the 'world' spun. Here and there, bright specks of scarlet shone.   
  
Northwest China. India. Turkey. Egypt. England. Quebec. New York City. Peru. Seattle.   
  
Some dots shone brighter than the others: Turkey, England, Quebec, New York, Seattle. It took a few cycles for Eiran to catch the significance; the places that shone the brightest were locations where they had definite knowledge of Old Ones' presence - all, that is, except for New York.   
  
He sat back and took a deep breath. He didn't notice the plants lifting their heads and arms as if to the sun, nor the eerie howling that filled the woods surrounding the palace.   
  
His mind was fixed on only one thing. New York.   
  
* There's a bit of back-story here that I should explain at this point. For many years now, the wolves in the forests surrounding Athanasia Omar's palace have been plagued with rabies. There's more about this related to that girl who stabbed Elena, the one with the beads in her hair, but I won't go into all that. I've actually got a short piece written on her life - incomplete and primarily for worldbuilding in writing Leaf. Suffice to say that Jasmine used some of the Power of the Palace to heal the wolves of their rabies and to give the plants a little boost while she was at it.  
  
* * *  
  
(4 October 1993)  
  
It was Samar's birthday.  
  
In a rare gesture of affection - also because he had forgotten the date - Tristan had agreed to treat everyone to dinner. Samar had wanted to choose the place and her brother had carelessly agreed.   
  
She had named a gay bar.  
  
Stefan had choked, Tristan had balked and after some heated debate, the siblings had settled on the venue that Samar had wanted all along anyway.   
  
It was an upscale club that catered to an eclectic clientele mix, primarily young professionals looking for somewhere to escape from their everyday lives, if only briefly.   
  
_Seraphim Loft_ was certainly a place to go for that, Leon granted. The atmosphere of the club was otherworldly, almost dreamy. It was certainly unique enough to take the mind off mundane concerns.  
  
The first impression one got was that of a maze of asymmetrical platforms at varying heights that dipped downwards towards the stage. The floor was gleaming grey-veined white tile except for the polished beige wood of the dance floor in front of the stage. The walls blended from the pale blue of dawn to the slate grey of dusk to the deep blue of a night sky in artistic intervals. The royal blue stage drew the eye, as it was meant to.  
  
Off-white pillars soared up twelve feet to disappear into the gloom shrouding the ceiling. Eight-foot tall seraphim bearing swords were carved into the base of each pillar, with smaller angels flitting over their heads. Where the multi-tiered platforms met the pillars, curling off-white cornices hinted at clouds. The theme was echoed by the waist-high matte-grey grills that rimmed each platform.   
  
A waiter led them to a table on a mid-tier with a good view of the stage below. Leon held the chair for Samar as they were seated, then took the place beside her.   
  
His birthday gift glinted gold on her right index finger. Their eyes met and they shared a smile; hers was impish and made her eyes dance.   
  
They had been reading Tolkien's The Lord of The Rings over the last week and he had decided to give her the 'one ring to rule them all', complete with an elvish inscription on the inside of the band. He had presented it to her in the car, a little nervous about how the gift would be received.   
  
Giving the girl you loved a ring - even as a gag - was risky business; he didn't need an audience, particularly not one that contained her volatile brother.   
  
She had met the gift with glee and clutched it to her, hissing, "My precious..."  
  
She turned away from him and looked around the table, visibly upbeat. He was glad to see her so; too often in the past weeks, she had seemed gripped in melancholy that was completely uncharacteristic. Her unfathomable moods made trying to strengthen their budding romance a delicate business.   
  
He had watched her, trying to assess how she was handling the transition back to humanity. Her frustration with human limitations was almost tangible at times, particularly in the area of physical ability. If she missed the mental powers of vampires, she did not let on. He knew she felt left out when the vampires slipped away to hunt in the evenings but she kept that to herself for the most part.  
  
And yet, at times he also saw her contented with her lot, in little things like choosing her food, her probing into the possibility of a college education, the way she got along with some of the Turned - even Taura, with whom she had apparently formed an odd 'Insults-R-Us' relationship.   
  
Leon could not tell what her decision would be on the matter of her humanity but he tried to blunt Tristan's continued pressure on the subject.   
  
Samar's foot hit his calf under the table, a little less than gently, and he reminded himself that now was not the time to worry about such things.   
  
Samar was not the only one in a cheerful mood that evening; Taura was in fine form, baiting Makoe and arguing with Tristan in turn. Karen was consulting Stefan on which pasta to order - figuring he was the expert in Italian cuisine - while Elena pored over the menu beside him.  
  
Leon also glanced at the menu and decided on a snack - not that it made a difference to him, but he found that joining in the eating helped the mood of things. So all three vampires would order something light and make a pretense of eating. And later, they would hunt and seek true nourishment.   
  
After the waiter had taken their orders and departed, lighthearted - or sometimes cuttingly sarcastic - talk ensued. Leon sat back, letting himself absorb the companionable chatter. It was quite remarkable, really, he reflected, considering that three of the eight people at the table were vampires, another two were vampire hunters, two more _had_ been vampires and the last was so extraordinary that it almost defied explanation.   
  
Elena, Samar and Taura were ganging up on Tristan when they were interrupted.  
  
"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in."   
  
Everyone at the table looked up at the drawled observation. A young human with all-American good looks stood with his arms crossed, eyeing Tristan.   
  
"Craig," Samar's brother acknowledged and half rose in his seat to clasp the other's hand. "Playing here tonight?"   
  
"Yeah, been doing that for the past couple of weeks." There were questions swimming just below the surface of that casual tone.   
  
Karen cleared her throat pointedly.   
  
Tristan glanced back to the table. "Craig, Karen Oliver."   
  
Leon was vaguely surprised that Tristan new the huntress' name, but then, they had been doing the gunner bonding thing.   
  
Craig eyed Karen. Karen eyed back.   
  
"Taura, Makoe, Stefan, Elena, Samar, Leon," Tristan continued, going around the table in sequence. "Everyone, this is Craig Miller, bassist for Cold Metal Charms."  
  
Leon recognized the name of the band Tristan had been playing with regularly before their lives had been turned upside down nearly four months ago.   
  
The vampires rarely came into contact with the humans another member of the hunt interacted with. Leon noted with interest that Tristan's manner changed around the bassist - he was more relaxed - and wondered if this was the persona he put on or if he was genuinely easy-going around the human.  
  
Craig nodded politely to each of them as they were named, then his baby blues settled back on Tristan and he jerked his head in the direction of the stage. "You with us tonight?"   
  
Tristan chewed his lip, looking down at the royal blue oval platform. "Yeah," he said softly, slowly, in a tone Leon had never heard form him before. "Yeah, I think I'm up for something."   
  
Slim white arms suddenly snaked around Tristan's neck. "Are you now?" was the suggestive question. "And what might that something be?"  
  
Leon hadn't even noticed the girl approach and the sudden appearance sent a jolt of adrenaline through him on reflex.   
  
White teeth flashed in a grin as the lanky vampire turned his head. "Sin." At least that's what it sounded like.   
  
That would actually have been an apt name for the sultry brunette in her see-through black top and swirling, slitted, leg-baring skirt. Leon had to look closely to make sure she wasn't a vampire; she had that air about her.   
  
"Where have you been, hotshot?" she asked and only vampiric hearing caught that low, furry murmur. Her lips were a quarter inch from Tristan's ear. If he turned a bit more, they lips would have met.   
  
Leon felt another kick - more forceful this time - and saw the derisive curl on Samar's lip. Tristan's sister did _not_ approve.   
  
"Around," Tristan said vaguely. His manner did not invite questions. He didn't get the chance to repeat the introduction - although Leon rather doubted that he would have anyway - when another voice broke in.   
  
"Move over, Cynthia; it's my turn."   
  
Cynthia - not Sin, but close - unwound herself from Tristan and turned to smile coyly at the man who had spoken. "Of course, James," she said and trailed a finger down his arm as she _slid_ past him.   
  
He didn't twitch and his expression didn't change, but it was obvious he didn't enjoy the teasing. He came forward and threw an arm around Tristan's shoulders companionably and smiled around the table. "Hi, all."  
  
"Hey, James," Tristan said casually. "How's it going?"   
  
The man bent until his face was level with the vampire's. His shoulder-length brown hair brushed Tristan's shirt. "Not bad, but the Charms were lacking a strong lead guitar. Dude, I can't play lead after all this time as second fiddle!" He chuckled softly at his pun and Leon felt Samar's fingernails dig into his arm.   
  
He had caught on, too, and felt an eyebrow strain to lift. Tristan might not be into the gay scene but apparently it had found an interest in _him_.   
  
Tristan made a sound of disbelief. "Yeah, sure. I've heard you play, remember? Could have fooled me."  
  
"Tristan! You're back!"   
  
It was another new voice and Leon saw a girl with hair the color of sunset bounding up the stairs and running across the platform to their table. The brunette, Cynthia, took an adroit step, putting herself squarely in the girl's beeline path to the vampire. The effect was immediate; the newcomer slowed and her expression closed. By the time she reached them, she was walking.  
  
Leon could not help compare the two women. Beside the seductive Cynthia, the new girl looked positively wholesome in her form-fitting white sweater and navy slacks.  
  
Tristan got up to greet her, and James' hand fell away. "Depends, Aime," the vampire told the girl. "You got that crossover covered yet?"  
  
"Just try me." She tried to look belligerent but Leon was not fooled by the tough-girl-next-door act. He saw the way her eyes glowed when she looked at Tristan.   
  
Oddly, he could not read Tristan's manner towards _her_. It might have been purely professional or it might have been more. He was certainly not oblivious to girls by any stretch of imagination. Leon wondered how he felt about this one.  
  
He found the entire encounter bemusing. Was Tristan's entire band secretly - or not so secretly - infatuated with him? A Tristan fan club? How did the group dynamics work there?   
  
Although, it did make sense. As impetuous as he was, Tristan still had the inhuman grace and sense of 'other' of a vampire. The latter was sometimes mistaken for 'mystery', but whatever it was called, it intrigued some. His sense of reckless danger no doubt added a second allure.   
  
Samar was watching Aime with cool appraisal. Leon's lips quirked when he noticed Taura doing the same.   
  
"So you'll join us, right?" Aime was saying, stuffing her hands in her pocket. It was an endearingly innocent gesture. "We haven't changed very much of the show."  
  
"I'd need an instrument-" Tristan broke off, looking distracted. "We'll work something out," he said at last. He gave her a quick, flashing smile and Leon nearly winced at the effect it had on her.   
  
Their food arrived then and Craig excused the four band members. James and Aime linked arms companionably and left. The bassist all but herded Cynthia along. The brunette threw a knowing smile over her shoulder and blew Leon a kiss.   
  
Samar bristled. Without thinking, Leon covered her hand with his and squeezed. He withdrew it almost immediately and picked up his fork to cover the motion, pretending not to notice Samar giving him a look.   
  
Karen was watching the Charms flatly with eyebrows raised, as if she didn't quite believe what she had just seen. Taura made a snide remark. Samar just glared at her brother. Makoe looked as unaffected as ever, although Leon suspected that he was amused. Stefan and Elena were both carefully neutral.   
  
Tristan fielded Taura's comment with matching fire. The glimpse of amiability was gone; he was 'their' Tristan again. The vampire made short work of his buffalo wings and chips, downed his beer and left the table.   
  
Leon ate his chicken salad, letting Samar steal the cherry tomatoes and picking up a couple of her fries in return. Talk resumed, but without Tristan as a convenient target for barbed comments - or perhaps the humans were focused on their food - conversation was desultory.   
  
The canned music faded and the lights dimmed - not enough to make it dark, but subtly enough to make everyone pause and look around. Then, "Ladies and gentlemen, Cold Metal Charms," an invisible announcer introduced the band.  
  
Spotlights came on, following the band members who strode through the curtain. There was a smatter of applause, energetic enough to be more than polite.   
  
Aime took her place behind the drums, which had been set up on the raised tier above the stage. Craig and James appeared with their guitars slung in front of them. Cynthia, surprisingly, did not take the microphone, but went to the keyboard already in place.   
  
Craig nodded and Aime set a beat with her drumsticks. Then sound rippled outwards like a wave from the stage. A measure into the music, Craig leaned into the mic stand and Cynthia joined in on the third bar, laying a purr beneath the melody.  
  
They both carried the tune well enough, supporting the instruments. The lyrics added depth of meaning to the music. Leon tried to remember if he had heard Tristan play this song before.   
  
The Charms played slow rock, with enough of an edge to the music to meet Samar's approval. She caught the beat and started moving in time, interest avid in her face. Whatever else she might think of the members of the band, there was no denying that they were good at what they did.   
  
Each member of the band took a turn with a solo; first James on the guitar, then Craig, then Aime and Cynthia, who added her voice to the end of her solo run and brought everyone in again for a final chorus.   
  
The applause that erupted after Aime had brought the drumstick down on the last stroke was more enthusiastic than before.   
  
"Thank you. Those of you who have been here some time in the past two weeks probably know us. That's Aime, James and Cynthia and I'm Craig. Tonight, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the fifth member of our band. He has not been able to join us until tonight and we hope that this will be the first of many nights to come. Please help me welcome Tristan!"  
  
People clapped because they were impressed with Craig Miller and the Charms. They clapped because Craig's endorsement of Tristan carried weight. The people seated at the vampires' table clapped because they knew Tristan. But the vampires and ex-vampires applauded wholeheartedly because they knew the caliber of musician Tristan was.   
  
Elena looked intrigued, Taura skeptical.   
  
Then Tristan came on stage, looking almost disappointingly normal in his denims and black shirt. He lifted a hand and nodded in thanks - or acknowledgement - and the audience quieted. The band must have discussed the choreography before the show began. Tristan took the mic from Craig, clapping him on the shoulder in passing. The bassist moved back and a bit to the left and Tristan took center stage.   
  
All froze, then by some unspoken signal, the instruments started at once, Aime with a downbeat the same instant the men struck a single, harmonized note on the strings so that the sound vibrated and formed a base for the rippling cascade of crystal notes Cynthia produced. The keyboard riff repeated with the guitars building on it, twining with it.   
  
On the third run, Tristan looked up and started singing.   
  
The music continued, soft, and Tristan matched the mood, almost crooning. His voice was pure sound and emotion, smoothing all trace of personality away. There was no trace of the impetuous vampire, the impatient brother, nothing but a man caught up in the tale told in words and melody.   
  
At the end of the verse, Tristan stepped back and Aime hit a bridge, picking up the beat. The urgency of the music skyrocketed. James flicked a pedal on the floor and a dissonant chord wailed from his guitar. Craig and Cynthia were barely heard amid the insistent call of the drums and the plaintive keen of the guitar.   
  
The tune soared and just as it crescendoed, Tristan grabbed the mic and joined his voice to the music. Sound exploded, hitting like a tangible thing. They dueled, musicians and vocalist, fighting for control of the song, neither quite able to conquer the other, locked in a breathless match that resulted in an almost euphoric synergism, like a pair of magnificent horses matched in stride.   
  
Just when Leon was beginning to recover from the shock of it, the two diverged, the instruments taking up one theme and Tristan singing a bridge like a countermelody. The singer spread his free hand wide, threw back his head as if asking the audience to stand witness to the avowal of bittersweet, angry love he made to an unknown female.   
  
He stood like that, while the music crashed over him, over them all. Craig echoed the last line of the refrain with fingers running down the fret board in a blur and then Aime brought both hands down.   
  
The silence was almost shocking after the electric sound. Then the audience went wild. There were catcalls, whistles, screams and roars of approval.   
  
Samar was on her feet, unabashedly applauding and everyone else at the table echoed her move. Taura was round-eyed, quite stunned. Karen looked impressed. Makoe was nodding to something Stefan said, clapping along with everyone else.   
  
"Why hasn't that group been signed up?" Leon caught from another table.   
  
Because the lead singer/guitarist/songwriter would never go for it, he answered them silently. To be recorded was to risk exposure. It was too much in the limelight, too close to the public eye.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Tristan didn't even sound hoarse and his words only caused another round of frantic applause. It took a while to quiet the crowd again.   
  
"Thank you." A flashing smile from the stage. "It's good to be back."   
  
Leon wondered if Tristan knew the effect that little sentence would have on his audience. If he really wanted quiet, he had just undone all he had set out to do.   
  
When order was once again marginally restored, he introduced the next song and the band launched into a smooth mellow number. To give everyone a chance to catch their breath, perhaps.   
  
People went back to the food they had abandoned previously and by the time the third song ended, the waiter had cleared their table and gotten them refills. Cynthia took the microphone for a fourth song with Tristan on the keyboard, but as sexy as she was strutting around the stage, her singing prowess was nothing spectacular.  
  
A club employee brought a high stool from the bar, positioned it so that it faced both the band and the front of the stage, then the mic stand in front of it. Tristan left the keyboard, reclaimed the micr from Cynthia, then spoke while taking the guitar from James.   
  
"We're going to do a bit of jamming tonight." A dangerous proposition before an audience, but the vampire sounded completely unselfconscious. The audience certainly liked the idea, from the cheers that greeted that announcement. "This is a little something I wrote while I was away. You guys are going to be the first to hear it performed. Aime, Craig, follow my lead."   
  
That sounded a bit more like Tristan; not exactly brimming with social grace.   
  
He perched on the stool, ran his hands over the strings experimentally. The scales his fingers produced melded into a tune, plucked note by lonely note.   
  
Aime had swapped to brush sticks and came in with a hushed little rumble in the background. Craig was watching Tristan's fingers intently.   
  
Leon felt his hand grabbed and tugged.  
  
"Dance with me," Samar said simply but insistently when he looked at her with slightly raised eyebrows.  
  
"Is this the right time?" he asked, looking at the empty dance floor.   
  
"That's Tristan down there singing a half-decent song and it's my nineteenth birthday. It's perfect. Now come on!" she said and he yielded.   
  
They ran down the stairs, but Leon tugged her to a more decorous pace before the reached the dance floor. He kept half an ear on the music as Tristan started singing and experienced a jolt at the topic: shadows. Not just any shadows but shadows as a euphemism for vampirism.   
  
To an oblivious human, Tristan might have been singing about anything; depression, alcoholism, drugs or any of a dozen vices.   
  
Leon knew better.   
  
Samar stopped and faced him, lifting her face to him. He set aside thoughts of Tristan as he put his arms around her. He felt a bit stiff, uncomfortable with being the only people on the dance floor with all eyes on them.   
  
The reflection of the spotlights on the stage illuminated half her face, casting the other half in darkness. The sullen beat of the song was not good for anything but slow dancing. Reluctant, but too self-conscious to do anything else, Leon held Samar close. His hands found her waist and settled there far too comfortably for his peace of mind. She twined her arms around his neck and put her head on his chest.   
  
They danced, moving slowly with bare little steps, bodies in contact. It should have been wonderful and romantic.  
  
It was not.   
  
Mercifully, other couples joined them, led by Stefan and Elena. That couple took the attention off him, as good as they looked together. Leon relaxed marginally and with the loss of tension, instinct took over and his hands tightened on the subdued body he held in his arms. His hands flattened, trailed up her back.   
  
"Samar?" he said softly, meaning, 'are you all right?'  
  
Tristan had stopped singing and was playing the melody while Aime and Craig experimented with ways to best accompany it.   
  
Samar lifted her face to him again but said nothing. The upturned face tempted him to kiss her. But no; it was too soon, and they were in public, to boot.   
  
But there was more.  
  
That white neck, bared and vulnerable, called to him without words, the sweet singing of her now-human blood in those delicate veins an insidious lure.   
  
It had not been long after her transformation that his hunger had awakened and taken notice of her. He had been horrified the first time he had felt that familiar ache in his jaw when they were alone together. He had been doubly careful to feed regularly since then, and not let down his guard around her.   
  
Standing with her on the dance floor, he settled for sinking the fingers of one hand into her cool, silky locks. The feel of her hair sliding around his hand was a sensory delight all by itself.   
  
He smiled gently at her, wanting to say, 'I love you.' But again, they were in public, and he felt that using telepathy was inappropriate since she could no longer respond in kind. Nor did he want to make it seem that he was flaunting his vampirism.   
  
His fingers found the back of her neck, stroked the smooth, delicate skin there almost against his will.   
  
Her eyes closed and she breathed a soft sigh. Her arms tightened, bringing her body into tighter pressure against his.   
  
The feel of her so close was almost dizzying, suddenly igniting two hungers at once.   
  
Having her aware of his desire was bad enough; to try and nibble her, especially here in public, would have been intolerable. Both might happen, one lust feeding on another, if he didn't do something about it.   
  
He forced himself to put his hand back on her waist and eased a bit of space between them. He didn't miss the tensing of her body. She ducked her head so he couldn't see her expression, but her nonverbal messages clearly told him she was unhappy about something.  
  
The song ended then. He took a step back and bowed over her hand in a courtly fashion. This much he could do; putting all his emotion into it, he touched his lips to her knuckles. He tried to peep up at her face as he rose, but her hair shadowed her too well.  
  
"Shall we go back to the table?" he asked.   
  
She nodded jerkily and didn't give him a chance to ask what was wrong before spinning on her heel and striding back to the stairs.   
  
Leaving a man on the dance floor was considered a deadly insult once and was still embarrassing. Leon hurried after her and caught up at the foot of the stairs.   
  
"Samar," he held her elbow to halt her.   
  
She gave him a blank look that told him she was hiding something. The look was unnatural; Samar was never neutral and her emotions were always clear to see, whether good or bad.   
  
Alarmed, his fingers tightened. "There's no joy in your eyes anymore," he murmured, stepped closer. "Where has it gone?"  
  
She turned to go back up the stairs, shrugging noncommittally. "I'm fine," she said flatly, a blatant lie.  
  
He started to argue, but Makoe's thought touched his mind. ::Time to go.::  
  
Leon followed her back to their table just as Tristan wrapped up the performance. He seated Samar again, trying to make eye contact. She sat down and picked up her drink. Stefan and Elena arrived back at the table just then.   
  
Leon found Makoe watching him with cool dark eyes. The cold vampire tipped his head silently towards the entrance.  
  
Leon shot a frustrated glance at Samar, then touched her elbow to get her attention. He caught Stefan's eye simultaneously. "Can you get a ride back with Stefan and Elena?" he asked her softly.   
  
The Italian looked startled, then understanding dawned and he nodded to indicate that that would not be a problem.   
  
Samar looked confused and unhappy to be so. "Well, yeah,-"   
  
"We have to go. Tristan is already waiting outside," he added when the tall vampire sent an impatient message.   
  
"But-" She broke off, looking at him full on, no masks now. He saw the comprehension dawn on her. "You're going hunting."  
  
Leon nodded, then closed to plant a light peck on her temple, "We'll see you back in the cabin," he promised.   
  
Makoe had walked off without a word and Leon followed, but he carried with him the hurt look on Samar's face as he left.   
  
* * *  
  
(5 October 1993)  
  
"Got you!"  
  
Samar grinned, a bloodthirsty baring of teeth. The point of her blade never wavered from Taura's stomach and the two opponents froze, the petite huntress' own knife raised overhead to strike.   
  
Taura stared then gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Think again."  
  
That was all the warning she gave before she dropped, her legs lashing out to sweep Samar off her feet. Samar's blade drew a red line down Taura's arm, either when she dropped to strike or when Samar fell. The huntress didn't seem to notice the injury.   
  
Or perhaps, Elena amended ruefully, she regarded it as a price to pay to bring down her opponent.   
  
Taura executed what looked like a break dance move and was back on her feet in a blink. Samar was just beginning to struggle back up when Taura grabbed her arm and flipped her onto her stomach with a hard yank.   
  
The action made Elena wince, just seeing it.  
  
Taura didn't let go of the arm, forcing it around at a painful angle and holding it there for a moment to emphasize her point before releasing the younger girl.   
  
"Do better," she said shortly, striding a few paces away and ready to start another round of sparring. "Don't get overconfident. Every stance has a countermeasure and a weakness. Know yours and look for your opponent's. And don't stop until your enemy is down for good. Triumph only comes _after_ that," she said.  
  
The ex-vampire girl got to her feet with a roll and a tuck. She looked... well, she didn't look at all happy now, but she didn't explode and lose her temper either, Elena noted with approval. Samar stood with one foot in front of the other, eyeing her 'teacher'. Then she closed the distance in a rush and met Taura full on.   
  
Shoulder ram, pirouette inside Taura's guard, elbow jab, then a face strike with the back of a closed fist; swerve away from a stomach blow, lash leg out sideways; change footing, duck a head swipe and use the chance for a low swing.  
  
The action was almost too fast for her to follow it, but there was a rhythm to it - like a lethally timed dance - that somehow defined each blow clearly.  
  
Samar's fist actually impacted Taura's stomach and the elfin huntress nearly bent in half. The petite girl took a step back and followed through with an incredible backflip. Her toes caught Taura under the chin, snapping her head up and sending her reeling backwards.   
  
Samar landed on her feet with knees bent. She shifted her balance without a pause and circled behind Taura, who was shaking her head, trying to clear it.  
  
Samar lifted her blade and drew an imaginary line across Taura's throat.   
  
Everyone - everything - froze. Then the elfin huntress slowly swiveled her head to lock eyes with her 'student'. Tension skyrocketed as seconds ticked by.  
  
Then Taura nodded once, sharply. "Good!"   
  
Applause, some sparked by relief, came from the watchers. Elena joined in the applause smiling at the sight of Samar's face. The girl's smile was less bloodthirsty this time, but every bit as fierce.   
  
The ex-vampire girl had been making steady progress in learning to fight in her human body. Elena had watched her work herself mercilessly, visibly squelching pride and personal dislike, to get back to the level of skill she had had as a vampire.   
  
A month after that first fight with Taura, she had nearly succeeded. It would not be much longer, Elena estimated, before Taura would become sparring partner, not mentor.   
  
Samar lowered her blade and Taura jerked her head to indicate that Samar should retire to the sideline. The day's lesson was over. Samar echoed the motion jauntily in acknowledgement; the feisty girl was too proud to actually give the formal bow of student to master. She moved to where she would be safely out of the way and sat on the ground, Indian-style.   
  
Elena noticed that she didn't go to where Leon lounged in a tree bole. Trouble there, she thought.   
  
The other Turned began to disperse, drifting towards the lodge. Some of the older ones murmured a farewell to Elena in parting.   
  
The wood was more peaceful, quieter, than it had been weeks ago. As the seasons stretched into autumn, there were fewer groups holding weapons training.  
  
The Turned had completed their search for vampires quickly this time; there were enough of them now that they worked in teams and were still able to gather the required number of vampires in a week.   
  
They had resumed weapons training shortly after that, but in the past month, singly or in handfuls, the newer ex-vampires had left to build new lives for themselves. Some of the older Turned were outraged that they would 'abandon' Elena, but she made it clear that no one should hold them back. She understood that they simply did not have a deep personal devotion to her, unlike the older Turned whose need had called her out of the night. The lack of hero worship was a relief since she had never been comfortable with how the original Turned treated her.  
  
Karen and Tristan appeared from the direction of the shooting range that had been set up some distance from the lodge. The two sharpshooters had hit it off, quite surprisingly, and now conducted training and practice together.   
  
Makoe waited for the crowd to thin before shoving away from the tree he had been leaning against. Taura exchanged her knives for longer blades and returned to the middle of the open space they used for training.   
  
Neither bowed, merely looked at each other. Those watching never really knew who had made the first move, but suddenly, they were both in motion.   
  
Taura's blades flashed when they caught stray lances of fading sunlight. Makoe was a dark blur, ever moving, seeming almost to surround Taura all at once.   
  
If Samar and Taura's exchange had been beautiful, this exchange was pure artistry. The movements were part dance, part acrobatics.   
  
It was only when one saw the sweat sheening the petite fighter's brow that one realized just how strenuous - and deadly - the display was.   
  
Taura threw one of her blades at Makoe. He leapt, tucked into a compact roll, and it flew beneath him. He snatched it out of the air as it went by. When he landed, he gave Taura a frigid look; it wasn't anger, it was admonishment.   
  
"Throw a weapon at your opponent and expect to have it used against you."   
  
Elena glanced to Samar to see how she felt about seeing her 'teacher' relegated to the role of 'student'. The girl was watching intently, not with spite but with the keen concentration that said she was absorbing the lessons for herself. Good.   
  
Taura attacked and Makoe countered. It was not often that the vampire took the offensive, but then, he didn't need to. Once in a while, he would strike, to teach Taura how to counter an attack.   
  
He did so now with the blade.  
  
He crowded her, got inside her guard, as Samar had done, leaving her no space to use her own blade. She was forced to bend over backwards. Further and further, until she reached both hands over her head and did something like Samar's backflip.   
  
Makoe advanced, matching her retreat.   
  
She continued the series of flips and cartwheels when Makoe pursued her. A boost of her legs sent her high up in the air and she came down head first, blade pointed straight at Makoe.   
  
Elena felt her heart jump into her throat.   
  
The vampire darted aside, but Taura's blade bit flesh, slashing a long, deep gnash down the entire length of his arm. He didn't pause, save to transfer the blade to the other hand.   
  
The huntress landed on her shoulder and rolled. He didn't give her a chance to recover but closed on her again. She got to her feet, breathing hard and swung her hand wide so that the two blades met and locked. Her other hand sought the cut, digging into his bloodied flesh.  
He gave her a flat look and disengaged her blade. Without the slightest change in his expression, he returned the favor and blood ran down her shoulder.   
  
She hissed audibly, backing two steps, and Elena got to her feet, the call to stop on her lips. She might have actually called a halt, or perhaps she would have bitten back the cry in time, but she had the chance to do neither as something rushed into the clearing at that moment.   
  
Or rather, someone.   
  
He was a flying blur that tackled Taura, landing on top of her. The wounded huntress went down with a cry and her blade flashed as she tried to stab her assailant. He tore it from her grasp and threw it across the clearing.   
  
Samar was on her feet and running forward. Leon was also on his feet, reaching to catch hold of her and keep her back. Karen had her sidearm out; so did Tristan.   
  
Makoe just stood there.  
  
The person raised his head at the sound of gun safety being slid off and they got a good look at him. There was a flash of fangs in that snarl.   
  
Vampire.   
  
Cantri, one of the witches, came running from the direction the vampire had appeared, arms waving frantically. "No! Stop! You mustn't shoot!"  
  
"You're kidding me," Karen said, her voice flat. "There's a vamp on top of Taura and I'm supposed to hold my fire? Give me a good reason and you'd better do it fast."  
  
"He's one of the vampires the Turned brought back; he's just loose from enclosure."  
  
"Then why's he trying to kill someone?" Karen's voice was getting flatter, which meant she was edgy. Edgier. The only reason her trigger finger was not flexed was because the vampire was absolutely still, listening to them and looking from one face to another.   
  
Tristan had his gun trained rock steady on the vampire as well. He snapped, "Don't you dare say anything about brother undead," in Leon's direction. The mild vampire didn't seem to hear him. He was engaged in a stare down with Samar, one hand clamped on her arm, effectively imprisoning her. The girl was glaring at him over her shoulder mutinously.   
  
Cantri could only shrug.   
  
"You'd better start talking, vamp," Karen ordered.   
  
The beautiful face contorted. "You tricked us!"  
  
"You might want to elaborate on that statement, pal."   
  
"You said you would make us human again, but it's been weeks. You've been keeping us locked up and now that we have gotten free, we find you torturing a vampire; you're holding us for sport!" He flung the accusations with the air of a man who dared his captors to refute his charges.   
  
"Then why are these other vampires sitting here, watching it calmly?" Elena spoke for the first time, and she spoke softly, but with confidence.   
  
The vampire zoomed in on her.   
  
"You remember me. I have come to talk to you all before."   
  
He nodded. "Elena Gilbert, the miracle woman." His fangs had receded, but he didn't look any more trusting.   
  
"We- _I_ have not Turned you yet because there is something else I must do before I can make the transformation safe for you all. I need to find someone and he has gone missing." She injected every ounce of sincerity she could into her manner and her tone. "I want to be able to Turn you all as quickly as possible, but it would be dangerous to try and do so right now; many of you would die. We have to wait."  
  
She took two slow steps towards them. In the periphery of her field of vision, she knew Taura was watching her with wide eyes. She kept walking, keeping that slow, non-threatening pace, until she was a foot away from him.   
  
"You are a vampire. You can see the truth of my words in my mind."   
  
Her tacit invitation was snapped up and she felt a clumsy hold brush her mind.   
  
He relaxed, the life and fire seeming to go out of him. He didn't even resist when Taura shoved him off her and scooted away. Karen was at her side instantly. Samar - who had either gotten free of Leon or been released now that the danger had passed - interposed herself between the wounded huntress and the vampire.   
  
He sat on the ground, looking oddly human, a broken man. "I'm so tired of it all," he said brokenly. 'Even now, I can smell her blood!" There was a bit of tortured hysteria in his voice as he pointed at Taura. "I want it to stop."   
  
"I understand," Elena said gently and bent to put herself at a level with him. "Believe me when I say we are doing all we can to speed things up."   
  
He nodded, not even looking at her.   
  
A pair of witches came forward to lead him away. Elena touched his shoulder as he passed. "Tell the others what I have told you," she instructed. He met her eyes and nodded with a bit more spirit in him. Nothing like being charged with an honorable duty to put life back into someone.   
  
When he had left, Elena snagged Cantri with eye and hand. "How did he get out of the enclosure?" she demanded. The barrier was put up to protect the humans as well as the vampires, and prevent precisely incidents like the one that had just occurred.   
  
"The barrier is gone, milady," Cantri told her, visibly upset.   
  
"Gone?"   
  
He nodded.   
  
"But Jerrick maintains the barrier. Why would he take it down?"   
  
"That, I'm afraid, only he can answer. "  
  
"Fine," Elena snapped. If this was more of that red-headed manipulator's games...   
  
She looked around; Makoe's arm had healed by now, leaving only a red line and dried blood in trails down his skin. Taura was on her feet, largely unaided, with a strip of cloth acting as a makeshift tourniquet. Samar still looked mad enough to spit nails and Leon looked grim. Tristan had put away his gun, but he didn't look any happier than anyone else.   
  
"Let's go see Jerrick."  
  
They trooped in silence toward the lodge. Cantri melted away somewhere between the clearing and the building and Stefan joined them midway.   
  
Elena outlined the recent events to him as they walked.  
  
Lagging behind, Samar and Leon were having what sounded like a full-blown argument. Elena could only hear Samar's side of the harangue, since Leon kept his remarks to a low tone. The petite girl sounded incensed enough for them both.   
  
When they arrived, Karen took Taura off to the healers and Tristan wandered after them. Samar and Leon stopped outside the door and continued their 'discussion'.   
  
Elena, Stefan and Makoe went on silently to the den, but Jerrick's chair was vacant. A bit of questioning got them directed to his room.   
  
They found him in bed. He was lying on his side, a huddle beneath the covers. The head of tousled red hair was visible above the mound of his shoulder.   
  
Madelene was with him, sitting beside the bed with one hand resting on his arm and her eyes closed in concentration. As they drew closer, they could see the sheen of perspiration on her brow, evidence of her frantically working healing.  
  
"Maddy," Elena said softly.  
  
It was a moment before she responded, opening her eyes. "Elena." Her head moved to look at them and then back to Jerrick as if the effort cost her. "He's in a great deal of pain."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"He's drained, burnt out. He's never fully recovered from the strain of capturing Emmet Mogen and being shot. And he's never had to keep the vampire barrier up this long before, particularly not with vamps straining against it." The healer sounded angry and it was understandable. "He doesn't have endless energy. He doesn't even have enough to sustain himself now - not that and keep up the barrier. He's barely able to put up shields he normally uses to keep the pain at bay."  
  
"What pain? Why is he in pain?" Elena asked impatient and exasperated.   
  
Maddy's eyes held a world of sorrow. "You've seen him limping."   
  
Elena nodded, mute. Maddy drew aside the sheet slowly.   
  
She stiffened in horror at the sight revealed. Pale scars criss-crossed the bare skin of his back. Cuts, scratches.. and some were not a clean line, as if they had been made by something with a jagged edge. Some were parallel, like claw marks. Scar tissue formed ridges, pulling skin and muscles in painful angles when he moved.  
  
"It's the same all over his body."  
  
Elena was so busy staring at the horror that it took her a moment to realize _why_ the muscles were moving.   
  
Jerrick turned on his back, moving even more painfully than Maddy had. The pale blue eyes were lucid, oddly calm amid the fine lines of tension around his face and in his jaw. He was unable to hide the evidence of pain in the curve of his lips.   
  
Maddy hastily covered him, looking a bit embarrassed at having exposed him like that. She took a step back, facing them with her head turned down. Jerrick didn't seem to notice, his eyes still fixed on Elena. He displayed no emotion at all.   
  
::You really have fallen far, haven't you?:: It was on the tip of her tongue to voice the thought but Elena couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud. She loathed Jerrick but to put him down at this moment was to demean herself.   
  
She had never wondered about his infirmities. She had always assumed that it was part of the price he had paid to obtain the Old Ones' downfall. Now, for the first time, questions arose in her mind.   
  
The answers came to her, as if it was something she had always known but had simply forgotten. Her 'rediscovery' did not, however, lessen the shock of the realization that-  
  
Jerrick's wounds were self-inflicted.   
  
He had done that, bereft of hope of relief. The pull on his ripped soul had driven him to seek a means - any means, no matter how desperate - to end the pain. The aching, unrelenting loss that never healed - the place where Channa should have been - gaped inside him.   
  
Her curse had hurt him in other ways; Nature called him, an echo of her. She had bequeathed him the ability to draw Power from the natural ley lines, but that very connection laid a claim on a part of him, demanding his allegiance in return.   
  
He could absorb Power from nature but to open himself was to feel its pull and it hurt, like salt on a raw wound.   
  
Elena tore her awareness away from this new awareness of Jerrick and raked her mind for something to say. "We can't go on like this," she said disjointedly. "We need to go looking for the sixth ourselves instead of waiting and hoping." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded forced, brash.   
  
"Eiran is already out searching."  
  
"You know as well as I do that it would be more effective if we were the ones out there searching instead."  
  
"Of course. But that would mean we'd have to bring the vampires with us."  
  
If holding the barrier up in one place was sapping so much of Jerrick's Power, moving would destroy him. And since they needed the vampires to dispel the excess Power she freed, they were effectively shackled in one place. Unless...  
  
"We could leave the vampires behind. Instead of channeling the Power to Turn them, you could take it instead," she said with low intensity. It wasn't anything he would not have thought about but she had to say it anyway.   
  
"I could," Jerrick agreed flatly. "But I won't."  
  
"Jerrick, we don't have time to coddle your delicate sensibilities!"  
  
"Do you realize what will happen if I take that Power?"   
  
She caught a glimpse of the agony he endured to draw energy and suddenly knew what he meant. To take in the Old Ones' Power would be infinitely worse because the soul-pull was no less, while the nature of the Power would be far less benign.   
  
She remembered the encounter with him in the club when they had just gotten back from Quebec. She had loathed him for what he did then. Odd how the thought didn't seem so unpalatable now.  
  
"Would... what you did at the club help?"  
  
His expression smoothed to such a blasé mask that it taunted her. "Would you allow it?"  
  
"Since when did you ever let me stop you from doing anything?" she asked sharply, not at all happy to be mocked for trying to find a solution.  
  
Jerrick gave her a tiny smile and the barest movement of shoulders in a shrug that could be interpreted in a hundred ways. "But to answer your question, no. At this point, that sort of recharging would be... dangerous. For all involved. I am," he said sardonically, "Quite a captive at this moment, trapped in my own body with my gifts turned against me."  
  
Again, Elena understood exactly what he meant.   
  
Mind control. Telekinesis, telepathy, empathy; those were his Powers.   
  
The warning in the bland remarks was chilling... and unprecedented. Jerrick never showed a weakness, ever. He really _was_ at his strength's end and she was shocked.   
  
"If you can't draw Power, then you at least need to rest and regain your strength." She couldn't quite put aside her deep dislike for him, but she managed to sound neutral and brisk. "Is there anyone else who can hold the barrier while you recuperate?"  
  
Surprisingly, Makoe spoke up. Elena had almost forgotten that he and Stefan were there. "I might be able to contain the vampires if you showed me how." His voice was as calm and flat as ever. Matter-of-fact. If he felt concern or pity, it didn't show.   
  
Jerrick shook his head on the pillow, slowly, still moving with care. "No. It would take one like me to impose such a barrier. No vampire can control other vampires like this. Not even if he is first blood." The tone ended as dry as bone as his eyes bored into Makoe.  
  
Elena's brow puckered at that comment. The answer came to her almost instantly. And stole her breath for a brief moment. Her eyes went from Jerrick to the dark vampire.   
  
"Excuse me?" Stefan asked.   
  
"He was made by one of them," Elena heard herself whisper. "One of the Old Ones."  
  
The vampire went very still, looking from her to Jerrick. She saw his face tightened as he scrutinized the helpless man in the bed as if seeing him for the first time. Whatever he saw leeched all the expression from his face, turning it into an inhumanly beautiful mask.  
  
It explains why he's so much more powerful than the others, she reflected. Katherine had been powerful enough - and mad enough - to be truly dangerous.   
  
Katherine had been first blood too.   
  
Blood.  
  
"Would blood help?" she blurted.  
  
Jerrick's body convulsed and Maddy leaned over him, alarmed, before they all realized that he was laughing. "Are you offering me yours?" he asked harshly and the blue eyes glittered with mad malice for a moment.  
  
Elena froze. It was answer enough. Jerrick produced another laugh that sounded like it was tearing his throat out. He shook his head. "No," he managed to choke out. "Blood would do no good."  
  
"Fine!" she snapped, feeling frustration claw up her belly, burning and caustic. "Now that you've shot down every suggestion I have made, you can tell us what can be done."  
  
"Why are you letting this worry you so much?" It was amazing that he could sound so normal after coughing his lungs out. "You know I am as 'protected' as you by our mutual task."  
  
Yes, neither of them would die until they have seen their promise fulfilled. Something else she shared with Jerrick.   
  
The silence threatened to stretch to eternity. Thankfully, Taura entered the room then, with Tristan and Karen flanking her.   
  
"What's going on, Jerrick? The vampires are loose and more than a bit mad, apparently," the petite hunter demanded. She had a proper bandage around her arm now but otherwise looked unchanged.   
  
"I'm afraid I won't be able to put up the barrier for a while. Maybe a week, maybe more. Would the hunters be able to keep the vampires in the enclosure for the duration?" Jerrick asked mildly.   
  
Taura snorted, looking a bit offended. "What kind of a question is that?"   
  
"Perhaps I should rephrase that," the redhead murmured. He paused to sip obediently from the cup Maddy held to his lips. "Would the hunters be able to keep the vampires in the enclosure and deal with any violence that might break out?"   
  
"Basically play bouncer," Taura summarized. She exchanged a look with Karen then gave Jerrick a sharp nod. "Yeah, I think I can convince some of the hunters to guard and not kill the vamps."  
  
"Just for a few days," Jerrick promised. "There is danger in this. With the barrier, there is always a risk of injury to both sides."  
  
"Jerrick, we're hunters. We know danger and we know vampires. We'll handle it, leave it to us." Taura flipped him a wave and turned to go, looking a bit disgusted. Karen followed her silently.   
  
Elena folder her arms and looked hard at Jerrick. "So we do nothing while you recuperate and the hunters play guard and Eiran continues his search?" she summarized tightly.   
  
"Yes, that is it, in essence."  
  
"You could join Eiran, now that you don't have to stay and keep up the barrier," she pointed out.   
  
He eyed her with cool consideration. "I could, yes. But not right now. In a few days, perhaps, when I am fit to travel." When she continued to look unimpressed, he reminded her fiercely, "I want this over more than you ever could, Elena."   
  
"Elena, please," Maddy broke in. "Taura has bought him a reprieve. Let him rest first and we'll plan our next step after that." Real concern shone in her eyes and she started to edge the four remaining callers out the door.  
  
The blonde had no choice but let herself be ushered out. Makoe left without a word, Tristan trailing behind him, muttering questions. Elena slipped her hand into Stefan's, seeking comfort. She suddenly felt like everything was falling apart. She hadn't realized how much she had depended on Jerrick's strength and resourcefulness in their quest, and now the sudden loss shook her confidence.   
  
Eiran, she thought silently, it's up to you now.   
  
* * *  
  
(8 October 1993)  
  
Eiran brooded.   
  
Their search in the past month had been, in the final analysis, fruitless. They still had not located the Old One, even with the help of the marble slab they had taken from the palace in Antalya. Either its Power was fading, or the palace had to function as a whole to be a focus. Terry had found no clues from it beyond the image of a wolf.   
  
A wolf! It could mean hundreds, thousands of things. The team had combed the city, identifying anything that had a wolf for an emblem or symbol, anything that might be associated with wolves. That list was still being exhausted - and added to - daily.  
  
They had attempted to locate and communicate with the local werewolf packs, but the shapeshifters were touchy at best, and hostile at worst. When they heard that Eiran's team had been making enquiries about them, there had been some warn-offs; nasty messages, a scare or two, a mock attack. The team's attempt to initiate communication had been brusquely knocked aside.  
  
Alvin and Terry had tried to get the help of the local psychics and witches, but they had proven as close-mouthed and antagonistic as the 'wolves.  
  
The searchers went on doggedly; there was no other option. Jerrick's network of operatives was silent, so there were no other leads to follow up, and returning empty-handed was not an option.   
  
The past month might not have been as physically trying, or as emotionally exhausting, as India or Antalya, but in its own way, New York was just as difficult. What the city lacked in size and physical barriers, it made up for in clutter, danger and secrecy.  
  
Eiran picked up the phone and dialed the lodge in Seattle. Instead of Jerrick's voice on the other end, a woman answered.   
  
"Hello," he said, a bit taken aback. Had he gotten the number wrong?  
  
"Eiran. It's Elena."  
  
Oh. "Good...evening, milady," he said, gathering his scattered wits. What was she doing on the phone. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"More or less." She sounded wry. "Have you found him?" She came directly to the point. No need to specify which 'him'.   
  
"No. Not yet." Somehow, reporting that to her was harder than to Jerrick. Probably because disappointing Elena was worse. "We are still searching," he added lamely.   
  
"Thank you, Eiran." The line was silent for a while. "Do you think you will soon?" She sounded almost small when she asked that and Eiran swallowed.   
  
"I'm afraid I can't say for sure, milady," he said, regret dragging his tone down low.   
  
There was another awkward pause while Eiran searched for words.   
  
"It's a difficult task we have given you," Elena said at last. She went on before he could protest, "I wish we could pack up and join you out there. Jerrick or myself _might_ be able to find the Old One, but our going out there just isn't possible. Jerrick is quite... unwell. He can't even keep up the barrier for the vampires anymore. We have the hunters guarding them now, but it's... difficult."   
  
She stopped and Eiran wanted very badly to be with her, sharing her burdens, easing them. He kept his lips tightly sealed and waited for her to go on.   
  
"We can't join you because we can't move the vampires. And without them..." she trailed off.   
  
Eiran knew; there was no need to go on. He was tired enough of the search that he wanted to ask that they find another way to dispel the energy of the Old One - after all, they had used Turning as an alternative to the weather-working. Perhaps there was another way that would let Elena deal with the Old One without being dependent on having vampires with them.   
  
He drew a breath and let it out as quietly as he could, squelching the frustration. "It's all right, milady. I understand." He tried to inject some energy, some measure of optimism into his tone. "We'll manage somehow. I'll be in touch. Please take care of yourself." The last was added with more sincerity than the platitudes.   
  
"Thank you, Eiran." They both knew she was not referring to his words.   
  
"You're welcome, Elena. Good bye." He hung up, not wanting to drag out the awkward conversation any longer.   
  
Alvin was nonchalantly reading the papers, as if he had not heard half the conversation. Max and Terry were getting take-out for dinner and Nelson and Jasmine were expected back at any moment.   
  
A key rattled in the lock and proved to be Max and Terry. The four of them quietly claimed their food and spoke of inconsequential things. Serious talk would have to wait until the entire team was assembled.   
  
There was a thump against their door. They stopped eating, four heads turning to the sound in unison. There was no further noise, but Eiran thought he saw something blocking half the light under the door.   
  
A jerk of the head signaled Max and Nelson forward. Max pulled out his knife and cracked open the door, Alvin stood with hands ablaze with witch fire behind him.   
  
Eiran could not see outside, but Max pulled open the door fully and shoved his knife back in its sheath. He bent and dragged a bloodied and battered Nelson inside, then kicked the door shut behind him with a foot.   
  
All four searchers closed on the wounded Turned. Max and Alvin caught him under the arms and half-carried him to the sofa. There would be hell to pay for the stains on the upholstery but they would worry about that later. Eiran's first thought was to call for Jasmine.  
  
But the healer had left with Nelson.   
  
He went down on one knee in front of the injured man. "Where is Jasmine?" he asked, taking Nelson's hand.   
  
"Gone," he wheezed. "They took her."  
  
"They?" Eiran asked sharply.   
  
"The 'wolves."  
  
Someone hissed behind him.   
  
Alvin appeared with a steaming mug of something; probably that stuff Jasmine always kept on hand. Eiran helped Nelson take a sip while Max peeled away the bloodstained shirt to survey the wounds.   
  
Bruises covered Nelson's body as far as they bared his skin and one side of his face was starting to swell. There was a deep gnash that ran down his arm, raked right on to his hip and thigh. There were neat, parallel tears in the cloth of his denims.  
  
Eiran felt his lips tighten at the sight. Being attacked by a werewolf could turn the victim into a werewolf himself. He wasn't sure if it required a bite or if claws were sufficient, but he didn't think the prospect of becoming a werewolf after escaping vampirism was something to fill a person with joy.   
  
Worry about that later. The phrase was almost a mantra.   
  
He instructed Alvin to get some warm water to clean the wound with. They would have to manage without the healer.   
  
Terry emerged from the bathroom with a hand towel, which she used to swab Nelson's clammy face.   
  
The Turned managed a grateful smile for her but it didn't last long. While Alvin and Max negotiated the cleaning of the wounds, Eiran held Nelson's face in his hand and stared at him urgently.   
  
"Tell me what happened."  
  
His old sparring partner grimly ground out how he and the healer had been returning from another day scouring the city for signs of supernatural activity that did not match the pattern of vampire, werewolf, or witch. They had been a couple of blocks away when they realized they were being followed.   
  
They had tried to slip away, only to be confronted with another group, and then another. They tried to avoid them, but unknowingly, were herded to exactly where the 'wolves wanted them; a blind alley.   
  
The shapeshifters had attacked without provocation, pinning Nelson to the wall, relieving him of his gun before he had had the chance to use it. The healer had been knocked unconscious, then carried off. It was only when Nelson tried to stop them that they descended on him with fists and claws.  
  
Nelson fell silent, save the labored breathing of one in pain, and all faces were grim as they all considered the sunny healer's probable fate.   
  
"They left me for dead and withdrew after that. I got up and hightailed it back here," Nelson concluded. His wounds had been cleaned by the time he finished and he lay back, eyes closed.   
  
Eiran stood, a bit stiff from kneeling for so long. He paced, thinking furiously. They would have to get Jasmine back. But why had the wolves taken her? Did they know she was a healer, or did they just target the girl, considering her weaker? Was this the first act to signal an all-out war?   
  
So many questions. They had to find answers, but how? Would the wolves talk to them? Did they dare risk that the pack was openly hostile now?   
  
Max hissed suddenly, a short, sharp sound meant to grab everyone's attention and silence them. "There's someone outside." He was staring at the door he had kicked shut not too long ago.   
  
Eiran felt alarm prickle his back and reached for his gun. He handed it to Nelson, butt first. "It's loaded," he said quietly. Then he pulled out the silver knife and got a second gun out of the drawer. He put the blade down long enough to fix the silencer to the barrel.   
  
The others were similarly pulling out weapons. They shared eye contact and moved as one. Terry stood protectively in front of Nelson, the rest fanned out around the door.  
  
Max held his gun one-handed, the other closing around the doorknob. He pulled it wide in a swift move and brought his gun into position simultaneously.   
  
The hallway was empty.   
  
They all relaxed, but Max rounded on them. "I did hear something," he said positively.   
  
"Just a neighbor, maybe," Terry suggested, looked almost limp with relief.   
  
"No," Max started irritably. "I know the sound of-"  
  
A dark blur unfolded from the top of the doorframe and launched itself at his unprotected back. Terry didn't even have time to scream before Max crashed on the floor, a large grey wolf on his back.   
  
The sound of breaking glass filled the apartment and more furred shapes rushed in from the kitchenette, the bedrooms, the balcony.   
  
Alvin seared two of the wolves with witchfire before a third leapt on him and gleaming fangs sank into his neck. The air was full of snarls and gunshots. Terry was yelling and firing. Three wolves lay quiet with silver bullets in them, bleeding on the floor.   
  
Eiran sighted and shot one as it cleared the kitchen counter, then hit another as it paused to snarl at him just inside the balcony. It must have climbed up the fire escape. There was a growl behind him. Without thinking, he jammed the blade in his left hand blindly. Sheer dumb luck caught the blade on the wolf's hip as he crashed into Eiran's shoulders full force.   
  
The Turned went down and he saw Terry trying to get free of a white wolf with its jaw clamped around her arm.   
  
"Nelson!" His eyes sought the injured Turned on the couch the split second before he felt the hot, animal breath on his cheek and powerful jaws closed on the back of his neck.   
  
He saw the smiling man on the couch, watching the fight with something that might have been satisfaction. Nelson, whose exposed skin was now smooth and scarless, lifted a hand in mocking salute.   
  
There was a sickening crunch that Eiran felt inside his skull, rather than heard with his ears. Pain exploded, blinding him. He might have shut his eyes, he didn't know. After that, he lost consciousness.   
  
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* Next chapter: The one with Damon in it!  
  
Comments are always welcome. Let me know you're out there!  
  
Thanks for reading. 


	56. Chapter Fifty Five: Meeting of Minds AKA...

Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
  
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.  
  
Notes:   
~ Chapter ~  
::Thoughts or telepathy::  
_emphasis or italics_  
* Author's Note(s)  
  
Date posted: 6 March 2004  
  
* I finally have the first draft of Chapter 57. It's not done, by any means, but 57 and 58 are a bit of a struggle, because I've been sucked into RL with little left for my private/creative life. So today, with the first sequencing run for Chap 57 in place, I thought I'd celebrate by posting Chap 55! The chapter count went up another notch: final chapter count is 58. I'm absolutely certain this time (unless an epilogue demands to be written, although right now, there are no plans for that.)  
  
Expect the next chapter in a week. And please give me comments, feedback, thoughts! Love 'em! And thanks to those who HAVE dropped me notes! Really appreciate it!  
  
Note: Dates are being placed to mark when much time has elapsed from one scene to the next.   
  
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~ Fifty Five ~  
  
(9 October 1993)  
  
They stood together, a shoving, testing group of furred bodies. Silent signals were passed, messages given with a flick of an ear, a turn of the head, a nudge. The alpha male was slowly backing from the human he had knocked out, teeth bared in a silent snarl. The rest could do no less.   
  
The four invaders were motionless on the ground, heavily injured but alive. Their orders had been to incapacitate, not to kill. The master rose from the couch and stroked the alpha's head in approval. He bent, kneeling in the pool of hot, fresh blood on the floor and rolling the human onto its back.   
  
The pack watched as the master regarded the still face in silence then touched a forefinger to the injured mortal's third eye.   
  
They all watched, yellow eyes steady, as the subversion began.   
  
* * *  
  
He was cold.   
  
All around him, no matter where he looked, there was nothing but featureless grey mist. It was disorienting and alien and it made him wary.   
  
Half-heard sounds reached his ears; the plaintive voice of a sitar, a courtly twang of a Chinese _guzheng_, a discordant note on what might have been some sort of pipes. The sounds seemed muffled by the mist, absorbed by it almost immediately.  
  
He thought he heard someone call his name and spun to face that direction, but there was nothing there except more billowing grey. Another faint noise reached him and he set off, following the sound.   
  
He had gone perhaps a dozen paces when the fog began to recede. Slowly, he began to make her out. The bright hair first, tumbling down her back as she faced away from him, then the pale hands that supported her body where she was - draped, for lack of a better word - over the ground like a mermaid.   
  
His fears faded, his guard dispelled. She lifted her face and called his name.   
  
He answered, causing her to twist around. The deep blue eyes fixed on him and he felt a tingle. The look was almost bloodthirsty. He remembered seeing such intensity in her gaze... in Quebec.   
  
Quebec. Their mission came vividly to mind. Dark, dank streets. The suspense of waiting. The faint terror when their target had appeared. The figure shrouded in darkness had been every bit as frightening as had been imagined, every bit as dangerous as had been described - and more.   
  
He remembered desperate anguish and then excruciating pain and helplessness. They had told him later that his spine had been broken in three places. It had felt like his entire back had been shattered and set on fire.   
  
Through the haze of pain, he had watched as she faced the shadowed one - and unraveled him.   
  
Like a grey silk veil, the image swirled away and he was staring at her again.   
  
She lifted a hand, beckoning, and he went to her willingly. She was cool in his arms. Another flash of memory shot through him.   
  
Holding her chill body in his arms, feeling the sympathetic and troubled eyes of the others. She was limp, bereft of the vitality that was life. He had sat in silence, fighting fear and despair, clinging to hope and faith. She had promised that she would not die. He trusted her word with his life.   
  
And then she had returned, just as she had said she would.  
  
He remembered, too, the look in her eyes later that night when he had woken her from a nightmare. For an instant, there had been a spark between them-  
  
She lifted her head from his shoulder then and met his eyes - and his breath caught. That same look was there. And this time, there was a mysterious smile on her lips as she cupped his face.   
  
"You are mine," she breathed.   
  
Joy, sharp and sweet, jolted through him at those words. A small part of him reeled in shock and whispered that there was something he should be remembering. But that tiny voice was drowned by the moment. "Yes," he whispered back, caught in her spell, a willing captive. "Now and always." He was jubilant; this was everything he had ever dreamed and wanted-  
  
The pain caught him unawares, jerked his chin up and arched his spine. The scream caught in his throat, strangled him. His hands spasmed, sapped of strength. He felt her slip out of his grasp and managed to open his eyes to see her rising to her feet.   
  
He collapsed on the ground, convulsing. He lay on his side, body curled protectively. His eyes clung to her, holding a mute question: why?  
  
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy...  
  
Every stab of pain sent the question through his mind in a shout, as if the cry turned inward when it could find no physical outlet.   
  
They were both changing.   
  
As he watched, the pale gold hair darkened to sable, the slight waves smoothing out. The pale skin turned to a light bronze and her features shifted disorientingly, sharpening.  
  
The wave of pain crested and broke over him then. Involuntarily, his eyes squeezed shut and he whimpered.   
  
His fingers curled in on themselves and something tried to force its way out from under his nails. His spine arched and writhed as if trying to dislodge itself. His face ached as if it had taken a beating and his legs bent at an awkward angle. As if from far away, he heard cloth rip in a near-silent scream.   
  
After that, there was only pain, a general cloud that muffled all consciousness.   
  
When at last it receded, he felt himself panting as if he had run for miles. He opened his eyes to see a man watching him. Gold glowed against the bronzed skin at his wrists, arms and neck. His hair fell in a straight cascade around his shoulders and the intense green eyes met his without demurring.   
  
The bronzed hand lifted, palm up, in a summoning gesture.   
  
He, the great wolf, got up and shook himself thoroughly enough that his ears made a flapping sound. Then, with great dignity, he stepped over to stand beneath the man's hand.   
  
* * *  
  
(11 October 1993)  
  
They had thrown an engagement party for him and Elena, though Stefan suspected that at least half the reason was to give everyone an excuse to party and relax a little.   
  
It had been almost two months since they had stormed the Baron mansion - two months since the search for the sixth Old One had begun - and the pressure of waiting was building up almost unbearably.   
  
Taura had instigated the party against all protests from the couple, and now the backyard of the Lodge was filled with the smell of grilling food and the happy chatter of Turned, hunters and witches.   
  
Stefan stood quietly in a lull between one group of well-wishers and another and looked about. Elena had been spirited away a few minutes ago amid much giggling and backward glances at him. Stefan was quite sure he didn't want to know what that was all about.   
  
He smiled at Miriam, one of the Turned, as she came up to him, a glass in one hand.   
  
"Great party, Stefan," she said, returning the smile with change. "So have you guys set the date yet?"  
  
"Not quite yet. We're waiting for Elena to complete her task first," he explained. Sometimes, he felt like handing out a list of answers to often-repeated questions, but he nodded politely and moved to the refreshments table.   
  
Scanning the spread, he found nothing that tempted his palate at that time. After giving the witch manning the grill an encouraging word, he decided to duck out of the noise and bustle of the party for a little while.   
  
He slipped away and followed the half-seen trail winding its way through the darkened wood.   
  
As the sound of revelry died, the quiet of the stately boughs - or perhaps the mindless act of following his feet - stilled his thoughts and he felt the release of tension he had not realized was there.  
  
He paused by a familiar glade; this was where he trained every day, learning to fight with a human body again. He never told anyone but there was a refrain in his mind that whispered to him to work harder so that, when Elena needed him, he would be ready. It was a dark, private spot in his soul that he kept hidden, never admitting that he missed having a vampire's strength and speed, if only to be able to protect her when the time came.   
  
Thankfully, that was _all_ he missed. No regrets plagued him, as he had half feared. His lapis ring now lay in that ornate coffer along with the dagger, the coin and Katherine's ring; mementoes of another time, but nothing more.   
  
He found his customary spot against a bole and let his mind wander as he inhaled the chill night air, rubbing the silver band of his own engagement ring absently. He didn't know he was not alone until words came out of the darkness.  
  
"What have you done now, little brother?"  
  
Stefan straightened and spun at the sound of that voice, hardly able to believe his ears. The figure that stood with his hands at his sides almost blended into the night, clad in black from head to toe as he was. But Stefan had been correct in his wild identification of the speaker.   
  
"Damon!"  
  
The older Salvatore regarded his brother with sardonic eyes, looking much the same as the last time Stefan had seen him, over a year ago. The hair, fine, straight and the glossy black of a crow's wing, the arrogant cast of his patrician features. Stefan could only stare, surprised at his sudden appearance.   
  
The black, fathomless eyes narrowed slightly. "So you finally got everything you ever wanted," Damon drawled, looking him up and down consideringly. "The fair Elena, and a human life with her." The dark eyes fixed on the gleam of metal on Stefan's hand.   
  
"Well done." The flat words held Stefan locked motionless for a full second.  
  
"She could do the same for you," he said quietly, perhaps the second time in their five-century life that he had ever talked to Damon thus. "If you wanted, she could make you human too."  
  
One side of the sculpted mouth jerked up. "I don't want to be human," Damon said silkily, the faintest edge beneath the words. "Whatever makes you think I might even consider it?"  
  
Stefan could only nod at that. He thought his easy acceptance of the decision surprised Damon a little as they both fell silent, watching each other. "Where have you been?" Stefan asked finally, exchanging the 'how' for a 'where' at the last moment.  
  
"Here and there. Visiting old friends," he said with the same old dangerous smile that used to bother his younger brother and his human companions so much.   
  
Stefan looked slightly guarded at that last bit. "Like who?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
Damon smirked, then his eyes darted from Stefan's to a point over the younger Salvatore's right shoulder. Stefan followed the direction of his gaze, just in time to see Elena come into sight. ::Have a good life, brother,:: came the voice in his head. He whipped back around-  
  
But Damon was already gone.  
  
"Stefan?" Elena called, crossing the distance between them with quick strides.   
  
Still staring at where Damon had stood, he held out an arm and she slipped under it, her own hand coming up around him. "I thought I heard voices."  
  
He looked down at her upturned face. "Damon was here." She froze in surprise, eyes widening a little. She waited for him to continue. "He knew about my being Turned. And... he wished us well."  
  
A small smile of delight brightened her face briefly at that but she sobered to ask, "Did he want...?"  
  
"He said no," Stefan answered as calmly as he could. Her face reflected the same faint disappointment he felt. "He's made his choice, I suppose," he said, trying to sound philosophical about it.  
  
Elena nodded then rested her cheek against him. His arm tightened around her comfortingly. "I would have liked to see him again," she said in a small voice.  
  
"I know," he murmured in return. His eyes searched the area, wondering if Damon heard her soft admission. They stood there for a few minutes, perhaps both hoping that Damon would reappear. Eventually, Stefan stirred. "We should get back to the party before we are missed."  
  
They returned to the path, walking arm in arm in thoughtful silence. Stefan couldn't help cast a glance over his shoulder one last time but the glade was empty.  
  
* * *  
  
When you live with your boyfriend, it's difficult to avoid him after a fight.   
  
And Leon was not making it any easier.   
  
In the week since that first big blow up when she had tried to fight the loose vampire, their interaction had been a series of volatile encounters and tentative make-ups that never lasted more than a day. It started with a testy exchange of words and progressing into full-blown disagreements and ending with him keeping stony silences, which led to her storming off, sputtering mad.   
  
They argued about _everything_ but most of all about them. Him and her. How they treated each other, how they acted around each other. He wanted her to be more cautious, she wanted him to loosen up. Neither was willing to change or compromise.   
  
Samar had finally decided that she needed time to think. She had not spoken to him for two days now. It was difficult due to their close proximity and more so because she had somehow gotten so used to being with him all the time in the last two months and she surprised herself by missing him. Unfortunately, while she missed him in his absence, his _presence_ grated at her.   
  
He obviously could not read the blatant but silent signals she was sending to leave her alone. Whenever she wasn't careful, he showed up beside her and tried to corner her.   
  
The close quarters of the party made his job all the simpler and hers so much harder. The situation did nothing to improve her temper.   
  
The next time she found him at her elbow, she unsubtly jabbed it back into his stomach. "Leave me alone!" she hissed furiously at him. "I don't want to talk to you."  
  
"Samar," he began but she didn't let him get any further.   
  
Spinning on her heel, she slapped the paper plate she had been holding onto the nearest convenient spot and stalked away. She didn't care if everyone was watching. She just wanted - needed - to get away from Leon. Without thinking, she found herself on the way back to the cabin. Maybe she could barricade herself in her room.   
  
She refused the indignity of running through the woods like frightened prey, but she knew that Leon could not be far behind. A thought occurred to her, another hiding place that would not be so easy to find. It might have been childish, or cowardly, but she acted on it anyway.   
  
Picking a likely tree, she started climbing, grateful now that she had chosen the sweater-short skirt-leggings ensemble that she wore with boots. If she had decided to wear the dress and pumps instead, she would have been ludicrous trying to climb a tree.   
  
She tried not to think too hard about Leon in hot pursuit; rushing would only cause her to be noisy and make mistakes and she was having trouble climbing in the near-dark as it was.   
  
After the first five minutes, when no hands reached out and tried to pull her out of the tree and force her to 'talk things out', she relaxed and started enjoying the climb. She had not done so since she had been Turned and was pleased to note that being human did not handicap her much, except for night vision.   
  
Higher and higher she climbed, until the leaves began to thin and the branches began to bend under her hand. She found a spot beneath a break in the foliage and sat there, catching her breath.   
  
The climb had given her something to work her negative energy on and left her a bit calmer. Hugging her knees to her chest, staring out at the waving sea of leaves touched by moonlight, she let her mind turn the situation over in her head.   
  
She _knew_ Leon didn't deserve abuse. He was just being himself: chivalrous, gallant.   
  
_Stuffy._   
  
Two months now. They had been together - if you could call it that - for two months.   
  
And he _still_ hadn't kissed her yet.   
  
Held her, yes. And she never felt safer than when she was in his arms. There, all her fears and doubts seemed insignificant. He would take care of her; he told her so in a hundred different, silent ways.   
  
But no kiss the seal the bargain.   
  
It was irrational to get so worked up over that, but she _wanted_ to be kissed. And she rather thought he wanted to kiss her. But he just wouldn't. It was frustrating her and she didn't like having that want thwarted. Oh, she didn't even know how to explain it herself. Trying to just made her more irritable. Justifying it curdled her mood.   
  
And then there were his confining demands.   
  
He wanted her to keep out of danger. Why was she training to fight if she didn't mean to get into the thick of things? When she had asked just that question, he had flabbergasted her by asking in return why she needed to train at all. His argument had been that she would be living a less dangerous life as a human and would not need to fight.   
  
Furious, she had blurted that she would need to be able to defend herself. He then agreed but pointed out that rushing into a fight was hardly considered self-defense.   
  
Replaying that particular disagreement in her head, she groaned in pent-up frustration and buried her face in her knees.   
  
::What have we here?::   
  
Her head snapped back and she saw Makoe perched on a branch not far away and higher up. How had he gotten there? She could have sworn she was alone a moment ago.   
  
::Lonely in love? We can't have that.::  
  
He was close. Close enough for her to see the uncharacteristic spark of intensity in his dark eyes. Seeing him here like this brought back memories of a blood-drunken night. Makoe. Dappled moonlight. A searing, foolish kiss.   
  
Betrayal.  
  
He rose into a crouch, his movements oddly lazy, almost languid, and leapt to land on the bough below hers. ::Perhaps I can remedy that,:: he suggested smoothly.   
  
"Get away from me," she snarled warningly.   
  
He flashed her a dazzling smile and she blinked. ::Makoe doesn't smile. No wait, he does,:: she amended bitterly. ::Just not for me.::   
  
The depth of her bitterness shocked and angered her, that he could still inspire such emotion from her. The thought turned her cold, especially thinking of Leon.  
  
::Why?::   
  
Dazed and distracted, she stared at him for a moment before understanding the question. He looked amused.  
  
"You heartless bastard, you dare to ask me that? I'm not your toy!" she yelled at him, getting her feet under her.   
  
He was too fast. She didn't see him move, but suddenly, he was _there_, one hand keeping balance on the tree trunk while the other closed around her wrist, gentle but unbreakable when she tried to pull free.   
  
"No, of course not," he purred. "Whoever said you were?" She looked into his eyes and was caught.   
  
Black, black eyes that seemed bottomless, filled her vision, enveloped her entire consciousness.  
  
She felt the mind control vampires could impose on humans, felt it subduing her. Disbelieving rage flared. How dared he!  
  
He was bending closer, as if to kiss her, but she knew better; in a flash of insight, she knew he was really after her blood. ::No,:: she thought desperately. ::No!::  
  
She felt his breath on her neck but try and she might, she couldn't move. ::I'm going to kill him!::   
  
If he doesn't kill you first, a little voice whispered to her.   
  
His lips touched her, gentle, seductive. He licked delicately at the skin of her throat, then fastened his mouth tight over her flesh. His fangs grazed her and she felt another spurt of helpless fury.  
  
Abruptly, he moved and she was released. Warm and gentle hands steadied her. She put her hand out against the tree trunk to steady herself. Disoriented, she looked up; Leon. They were standing together sideways on a single branch, the front of their bodies lightly touching.   
  
His hands rested on her shoulders and turned her gently aside, his right foot and shoulder edging past her along the bough as if to shield her. He wasn't looking at her; she saw his face in profile as he stared grimly at her would-be assailant.   
  
Makoe had moved to a branch on the opposite tree and stood there, half shadowed and completely unruffled, watching them calmly.   
  
If there was a mental conversation going on, she didn't know about it. Her shoulders shook as shock caught up with her. The enormity of what had _almost_ happened hit her and she swayed, and clutched Leon's arm frantically  
  
Makoe had-he had tried to-   
  
She was furious... but she was afraid. She had never felt vulnerable like that before but now...  
  
"You!" There was, understandable, unaccustomed ice and fury in Leon's tone.   
  
Samar waited for some response from Makoe but there was only silence that somehow seemed amused. Resisting the urge to cling to Leon and hide, she opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the dark vampire facing them.   
  
She stared and as she did so, drew her anger past the fear, drew strength from it. Aware of Leon, stiff and defensive beside her, she stared at Makoe, with his mocking black eyes and his taunting smirk.   
  
His condescension was all for Leon, she realized suddenly. He knew, as did Leon, that if he chose to force things, Leon would not be able to stop him.   
  
She had thought she was angry before but that realization incensed her.   
  
She straightened, releasing her hold of Leon's arm. The eyes now rested on her with a strange light in them.   
  
"So she's yours?"  
  
Samar barely heard him, focused on flinging her defiance in his teeth. She put all her energy behind a single thought and flung it at him, hoping he could hear it. ::You can't hurt my anymore; not after this.::  
  
"No." Leon didn't quite stutter at the lazy question. "I just happen to love her," he mumbled, then his lips thinned as the dark eyes sparked malicious laughter. "She's no more mine than Elena is yours."  
  
What?  
  
The malice darkened, turned dangerous, but the words were smooth, coated with silky threat.  
  
"Well, then, you wouldn't mind me nibbling."   
  
"I would!" Samar snapped.   
  
"I know you would. Samar." He drew her name out as if tasting it. His lips parted, showing fangs. "That's what makes it so fun."  
  
Samar _felt_ Leon's mental reaction - a wave of palpable fury - but the dark eyes never wavered from hers.   
  
"That's enough, Damon."  
  
_Damon?_ Samar blinked, brought up short. _What was Leon talking about? This was Makoe._ She took a closer look. _Damon? This was Stefan's brother?_   
  
::I would object, too.::  
  
There was barely any hint of movement before a new, shadowy figure pushed aside a leafy clump and stepped into the tableau: Makoe.  
  
He swept the odd ensemble with a cold stare and finally settled on the vampire who looked like his twin.   
  
Samar's eyes darted from one dark vampire to another. The likeness was uncanny. But as she looked closely, she saw differences. Small dissimilarities in features, greater in their manner.   
  
Damon was more delicately built with finer features. Even in the dark - or perhaps _especially_ in the dark - he exuded arrogance, dangerous charm and... well, sex appeal. Makoe's built was just slightly broader and his face stronger. His intensity was all coldly emotionless and carried himself with an air of unshakeable confidence.   
  
Makoe caught her studying him and flicked a brow up. She only shook her head, averting her eyes and he turned back to Damon.   
  
"So you're the Crow."  
  
"I see someone's been spreading tales," Damon said urbanely, not looking at Leon. "You seem to have the advantage on me."  
  
"In more ways than one," Makoe said flatly.   
  
There was an extended, heavy silence. Then, Damon's lips curved, just a little. "I get the picture." Did he look grudgingly impressed? What was going on?   
  
Samar glanced at Leon; he was watching the pair, eyes darting back and forth. Clearly the two dark-haired vampires were up to something. Samar felt frustration at her 'blindness' to whatever exchange was happening.  
  
"Still," Damon went on, "I don't see what this has to do with you."  
  
"You threaten one of mine, Salvatore."  
  
Now Damon quirked an eyebrow in a gesture so like Makoe, it gave Samar déjà vu. "Her? How is she one of yours? She's human-oh." He studied her. "Another vampire Elena changed back, is she? Still, that makes her fair game."  
  
"No, it doesn't," Leon put in fiercely.   
  
Damon smiled appraisingly, looking down the aristocratic nose at his former follower. "So she _is_ yours!"  
  
The phlegmatic vampire hesitated and glanced at Samar. She rolled her eyes and scowled at him. Really, the man was maddening at times. This entire episode was too bizarre for words and she was beginning to get annoyed again. "Yes," she mouthed, causing him to draw a sharp breath. Samar was torn between fondness and exasperation. The light in his eyes went far to defusing her temper.   
  
He lifted his chin to his old mentor and the hand on her shoulder squeezed once, protectiveness and possession equal in the gesture.   
  
"Ah." Damon spared her a quick glance. "Too bad." He smirked, then turned as if he stood on solid ground and not on a slender branch. "It would appear that there is no one here for me, then. I shall be on my way. Leon, don't forget to watch your back."  
  
Samar stiffened at the ominous phrasing but Leon squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I will."  
  
"See that you do."  
  
There was a rustle of feathers and a sudden beat of wings and then a black crow broke through the trees and disappeared from view.   
  
Samar blinked; Damon was gone. She turned to Leon slowly to find him gazing up. "The crow?" she asked, disbelieving.   
  
"Yes."  
  
Leaves brushed against each other and when Samar looked, Makoe was gone, too, leaving her alone with Leon.   
  
She suddenly felt awkward, standing so close to him after all their fighting. The hand on her shoulder slid down her arm as she started inching away and she ignored the fact that he was watching her with a grave expression on his face.   
  
Standing in her own little bubble of personal space, pressed against the rough bark of the trunk, she said shakily, "I'm tired. Let's go back to the cabin."   
  
They climbed back down and walked in stiff silence. Samar nearly forgot Leon's presence a time or two, distracted by deep and serious thoughts.   
  
* Oh, by the way, there's a reason for Makoe being of tougher built than Damon. Damon was an aristocrat's son in the 15th century. He never had to worry about survival, just the strenuous tasks of wenching, drinking and probably brawling in some sophisticated form or other. Makoe, on the other hand, was a prince of the Gauls. They were warriors and ferocious ones at that. Makoe would have been trained for battle from a young age.   
  
* * *  
  
Jerrick retired for the night, leaving the celebration in full swing behind him. Much as he liked the way everyone was relaxed, he couldn't help the gnawing frustration at the back of his mind, or the weariness in his body and spirit.   
  
He brooded each step of the way to his room but was roused from inner ruminations as soon as he had stepped through the threshold. The door shut firmly behind him, seemingly of its own will.   
  
The pale blue eyes swept the room.   
  
Nothing seemed amiss, no item out of place. But the presence was unmistakable.   
  
He did not turn, merely leaned on his cane and said to thin air. "You have not lost your touch."  
  
At the same moment he stabbed out with his mind, reaching for Elena. As he half-expected, there was a barrier there; he was turned back, locked down and powerless. It stung to have his quarry so close yet unable to resolve this burdensome task that he had accepted.   
  
::I can't say the same for you.:: The thought whispered, paper dry.  
  
There was a swirl of air in front of him, a miniature whirlwind that was visible only because it made the dust motes dance. It uncoiled and soared away, encircling him.   
  
"Why did you come here?"  
  
::I was curious.::  
  
And when one is invulnerable to harm, curiosity was something that could be indulged.   
  
The witchling wind spun around the room, then dispersed. There was a low growl, almost inaudible to human ears. A large grey wolf lurked at the edge of his vision, white teeth and darker claws flashing. It paced back and forth in front of him, yellow eyes fixed and malevolent.   
  
The red-haired man watched the creature prowl restlessly, its claws clicking on the wooden floor. He kept his bland expression, privately grateful for the cane since he could not sit.   
  
::Why do you do this to us?:: came the question at last.   
  
"You can look at me and still ask?"   
  
::Even we only see so much. How did all this come to past?::  
  
Jerrick recited his story in clipped sentences. How he met the witch, how she cursed him and how her death all but destroyed him.   
  
::I do not see how this has any bearing on the situation.::   
  
There was an undertone of perplexity in that thought that made the red-haired man almost smile; a bitter twist of the lips. Immortals had their own blind spots; they could not comprehend suffering that would not transcend time, could not conceive of someone wanting to end his life.   
  
They did not comprehend how existence could be a burden.   
  
"I wish to shuffle this mortal coil," he tried to explain bluntly. "And it is something I will not be able to do until every last one of you is undone."  
  
::But why would you trade existence for oblivion?::   
  
Oblivion. The word was seductive all by itself. Jerrick nearly closed his eyes and wrapped himself in it, but it was too dangerous. He had to keep his attention focused. And he had to shake the other's balance and try to reach Elena.   
  
"It is something you would have to experience yourself to understand." He struck, lashing out and seizing the mind that was so much more Powerful than his, pouring into it all the suffering he held at bay daily.   
  
The sixth bucked in response to the merciless empathic sharing.   
  
Jerrick felt like he was wrestling an elephant, with the other's mind shrouded in his, but anger lent him strength and surprise was his advantage; he held on for precious seconds before the sixth tore loose.   
  
His thought stabbed out, reaching for Elena, at the same instant the wolf pounced. The barrier was still in place and he could not break free.   
  
Jerrick lifted his cane to ward off the creature, but it morphed in mid-air, twisting and lengthening, coruscating into a length of shining gold silk. It wrapped around him, possessing a life of its own.   
  
The cool material wound around his body like a snake, constricting.   
  
::You are weak,:: the dry voice snarled furiously into his mind. ::So much so, it is pitiable. You could not even keep Emmet Mogen from contacting me. You, who were once master of all that is mind. How far you have fallen.::  
  
"And yet, you will lose," he replied, a bit short of breath from the constriction.   
  
As if tugged free by an invisible hand, the silk pulled a bit upwards and over one shoulder. Friction made it cling to his body stubbornly before sliding away, slowly uncoiling. The part of his neck that the silk rubbed against began to burn.   
  
He stiffened when smooth material melted into the touch of soft cool skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of pale, shapely limbs.   
  
The figure walked around to stand in front of him, nude, fingers still trailing around his neck. The fingernails scraped lightly on his skin.   
  
With the arm curled around his shoulders, standing a hair's breadth apart, Jerrick knew that the other could not possibly have missed his sharp intake of breath.   
  
Familiar sea-green eyes lifted to his, laughter in their depths. The person gave a small, impatient toss of the head to shake back that feathery cap of wheat blonde hair, a gesture familiar enough to send a pang through him. He stared at the face lifted to his, tanned from all her time out of doors.   
  
Channa.  
  
How had he known? Jerrick had never described the witch. His shocked reaction must have amused the other greatly.  
  
"Don't you know how much a part of you she is?" The voice soft contralto was as achingly familiar as the rest of the lithe form before him. The hand around his neck slid to cover his heart. "After all, a measure of her soul is bound to you."  
  
Jerrick didn't know what the other did, but he felt a twinge on the soulbond and flinched.  
  
The pseudo-Channa laughed. "Jerrick Edom. That is the name you took when you met her, isn't it? 'Blood Lord.' How delightfully ironic. A gesture almost worthy of me." The hand on his chest flattened and shoved. He stumbled, lost his physical balance as well as his mental center, and hit the floor gracelessly.   
  
Scrambling to recover his shattered composure, Jerrick stared up at him - her and tried to call up hatred as a defense. But that emotion had long ceased to be effective against the witch.   
  
"Oh, you are a fool!" she - he - said, laughing mockingly. "Your shields are so weak, I hear your every thought." Another light laugh, edged now with harder undertones. "And you think to defeat me?"  
  
"It is not I who will defeat you."  
  
"Oh, I know all about your little human pet. Perhaps she will triumph. Then again, perhaps not. Either way, I intend to make it as interesting as possible before the end. Whatever end that might be," the shapeshifted Old One qualified.   
  
It was obscene to see that bright smile twisted into an expression of savage challenge. She - he - went down on her knees and prowled forward until she was almost on top of him. The pose was almost lover-like and raised memories sharply in his mind. Just another form of mental cruelty that the sixth wielded with such skill.   
  
Channa leaned down until they were so closed that they almost kissed. Their breaths mingled and she looked at him through half-lidded sea-green eyes. "I know you have taken the others. But they were caught unawares. I am not," she whispered, her tone caressing. "Shall we make a game of it?"  
  
He lay perfectly still, like a deer caught in the headlights.   
  
The head bent and he felt the feathery locks tickle his throat. He was not prepared for the sting of fangs sliding into his neck and went rigid with shock.   
  
The Old One held him paralyzed by the force of his mind alone. After a minute, he raised his head. There was blood smearing his lips.  
  
Eyes of luminous jade locked with his and long black hair shrouded a gold-skinned body. "Bring your nemesis, 'Jerrick'. Bring that great bane of your making and we shall see who wins the day."   
  
He seemed to dissolve, like a sand sculpture scattered by a breeze. A mocking little eddy of that witchling wind tugged at Jerrick's clothes and then the lame man was alone in his room.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
* Thanks for reading! 


	57. Chapter Fifty Six: Coming to a Head

**Summary:** Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.   
** Disclaimers:** Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.   
**Date posted:** 25 April 2004 

* Here's Chapter 56, at long last. I've been sitting on this for a while, mostly because of the tight integration between this chapter and the next; I had to make sure I got 57 nailed solid before I could let this one go. This weekend -- what's left of it -- I'm going to focus on polishing 57 to a fair-thee-well and I hope to post it next weekend. If possible, I'll have the final chapter, 58, done within the next couple of weeks. I must warn that work is... absolutely, stinking crazy. My project is at its peak, so things are a bit iffy on anything outside work. I'll do my best; the characters won't let me do otherwise and besides, I have a thing about work taking over my life... 

On an aside, I have not been completely idle. I've put together a little gallery of pictures for the characters of _Leaf_. It will be part of the webpage, which I'm putting together. The webpage will have more details and behind-the-scenes of the story and the characters. I'll announce either here or in the FFN profile or on my LJ when the site's launched. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for your patience. I love any and all feedback, as you all know. ^_^ Many thanks to those who took the time to review. 

**winry16:** Thanks for the vote of confidence! I would -love- to write (fiction) for a living and hopefully, I'm moving in that direction. Hope your friends agree with you about Leaf. ^_^   
** Daugain:** Nope, all the Old Ones are male. As explained by Jerrick in Chap. 35. And I'm glad Taura has one supporter, at least! :D   
** Kichiko:** Thanks for your continued support. Samar's a joy to write -- when I'm in a bratty frame of mind. ;D And yeah, Makoe/Leon on the basketball court was one of the more vivid scenes that I liked, myself. *grins happily* Read on, read on; another two chapters and then I'm done!   
** Moreta, Eleia,** I owe you large emails. Thanks for the detailed comments and edits. *beams*

* * *

~ Fifty Six ~ 

(_12 October 1993_) 

"Elena!" 

She turned to the sobbing call, alarm racing up her spine. One of the Turned was running towards her. The tears shining in the girl's eyes seemed to blind her for she stumbled, caught herself, and continued her sightless rush. 

Elena was on her feet and dashing to meet her without consciously moving. She gripped the hysterical fifteen-year-old around the elbows to steady her and seize her attention. 

"Jesse," she said, trying to sound calm and authoritative at once. "What is it?" 

"Eiran," she gasped, gulping another sob. "We heard a car... and then a thump... And then when we went to look, we found him there- Elena! There was blood everywhere! He's dead! He's _dead_!" The last word came out somewhere between a scream and a wail. Her legs gave out beneath her then and she sagged against Elena. 

Elena felt the blood leave her face. She suddenly did not feel the ground solid beneath her feet and a kind of numbness spread over her thoughts. 

Eiran... dead. 

She rocked back unsteadily in shock. Her grip loosened and Jesse collapsed on the ground, sobbing. 

"No..." Elena breathed, staring at the main house. She took of running, oblivious to those who followed her. She didn't remember reaching the lodge, nor bursting through the door and running down the corridor. The porch came into view and she arrived in time to see Maddy throw herself on the still form on the ground with a low, strangled cry. 

Elena's fingers caught the threshold, stopping her headlong plunge at the end of the hall, and her eyes shut as the flood of relief swamped her. Gripping the doorway, she swayed. 

Not dead, then, she reassured herself. Healers do not try to revive corpses. 

The thundering pulse in her ears receded and she released her death grip on the lintel. A bit out of breath, she moved forward. 

Jesse had been right about the blood, at least. A dark, wet pool stained the floor where Eiran lay. The hint of spatters showed how carelessly he had been deposited there. 

Elena shuddered but a dispassionate corner of her mind kept working, running through what she knew, putting it together, trying to make sense of it all. 

When she had last spoken to Eiran, he had been in New York. That had been four days ago. If he had been given these wounds there, he would never have survived the nearly-three-thousand-mile journey back to Seattle. Nor would the wounds still be bleeding. Which meant that he had been held and tortured at a location not far away. 

The fact that he had been returned meant that this went beyond a simple attack; whoever had done this had known who Eiran was and what he had been sent to do. 

And there was only one party that would have cared enough to go through all this trouble. 

The Old One had done this. 

Elena's odd detachment vanished with that realization. And what of the other searchers? There had been six in Eiran's team. What of Alvin and the rest? Had they been killed outright? 

Elena's hands clenched in fury and grief. At the tap of a cane on the ground and a quiet, uneven step, she whirled and met Jerrick's eyes furiously. 

"_He_ caught them," she said in a low voice, to keep from screaming. "He'd had them in his hands, tortured them and they had been _helpless_-" 

He looked at her, deadpan, as if asking her to get to the point. 

"We sent them out there, _defenseless_. How did you expect them to fight an Old One?" she demanded, losing control of her tone and throwing that last question at him. 

"They weren't supposed to. Their task was to locate him so that _I_ could go and get him." 

"Apparently, _he_ found _them_," she snapped bitterly. "We _knew_ Emmet Mogen warned him; we knew that he would not be oblivious to his danger." She fought guilt. They had known and they had not thought to take precautions for their people. 

But what could they have done? 

"What could we have done?" 

She hated hearing her own question echoed by Jerrick. She shot him a suspicious look; had he planted that thought in her head? Or read her mind? 

He gave her a frank look, guileless, but she wasn't fooled. 

"Elena, you know very well that neither of us could have left for very long, much less spent months roaming the globe in this search." 

She had no answer for that, but she told him flatly, "We are _not_ sending out anyone else who might become another victim." 

He opened his mouth to say something. Judging from his expression, it would have been something sardonic, but she flung up a hand to forestall him. 

She growled, "We'll _think_ of something," and stalked away, knowing it was an argument she couldn't win and not wanting to face that just now. 

Stefan, who had followed her flight from the field, beckoned her to where he stood with Leon and Makoe. The two vampires looked preternaturally alert and Elena realized that they must be surrounded by the blood-scent. 

Some of her wariness might have shown on her face. Leon gave her a small smile that was meant to be reassuring, but there was something...something like sympathy behind it and that did not put her at ease at all. She closed the distance between them, eyes moving from one man to another. 

When she got within reach, Stefan touched her elbow gently. "Leon says there's a heavy scent here; wolf," he murmured. 

"What?" she blinked at him in bewilderment. 

"The scent of werewolf is all over the place. It's all over _him_." Leon tipped his head to indicate the broken form Maddy knelt beside. 

It took Elena a moment to realize the significance of the statement and when she did, she stared at Leon, then Stefan, stricken. "He didn't turned Eiran into a werewolf!" she whispered in horror. Her tone was pure, knee-jerk denial. Oh, that would be too cruel. For him to escape vampirism only to be imprisoned by another curse. 

Stefan looked grim. "We won't know for sure until the next full moon," he said quietly, but something in his tone and in his eyes spoke of little hope. 

Tyler Smallwood's ancestor had been changed into a werewolf after being attacked by one. If any of those injuries were 'wolf inflicted... If Eiran survived... 

"The full moon will be at the end of the month," came the helpful input from Leon. 

Elena swallowed. One thing at a time; save Eiran first and deal with the werewolf thing later. Her eyes locked on that courteous young man who had been so good to her when she had needed a friend. She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, in steady, if shallow, measure. 

Maddy sat back as if drained. She probably was. There was a limit to how much a healer could do, given that her own power was not infinite. "I have him stabilized," she said tiredly. The bleeding had been staunched and Elena guessed that serious injuries, visible or internal, had been repaired, but Eiran still looked far from well. 

The sixth will pay for this, Elena vowed. With blood and Power. 

She went to Maddy and knelt beside her, just barely avoiding the pool of blood. "You've done well, then," she said, resting a hand behind one bowed shoulder. "Let us take over. What can we do? Can we move him?" 

"Yes. But carefully. Get him cleaned up, as well. Make him as comfortable as possible. Shock and sensory abuse are part of the damage." 

A pair of relieved-looking, but ashen-faced Turned came forward to follow her instruction without further prompting. 

Elena helped Maddy to her feet. When she looked around, she found that Jerrick had left. Her eyes met Stefan's briefly in silent communication. He tipped his head to indicate that she should go ahead. 

They proceeded to Eiran's room on the upper floor. Elena followed at Maddy's elbow, ready to catch her if she stumbled. She saw the healer settled in a comfortable chair with some restorative beverage in her hand while a couple of male Turned cleaned their one-time leader up in the adjoining bathroom. 

"Elena, you should know," the healer said at one point, cradling a steaming mug between her hands. "Eiran's spine was broken in three places." 

She met Maddy's eyes. She spoke slowly, defining each word with emphasis. "The _same_ three places?" 

The healer nodded once. 

"Coincidence?" 

She shook her head, then broke their locked gazes. She pursed her lips, set the cup down on the side table and rubbed hands up and down her arms as if she felt cold. "He wants us to know that he knows, Elena. I don't know how much but between Eiran and Alvin, he must know something. 

"Sending Eiran back to us like this was a warning. Or a threat."   
  


* * *

(_that night_...) 

Leon woke with a start and lay very quiet, trying to identify what had alerted him. 

It was dark, with only weak moonlight filtering in through the window, silvering the filmy day-curtains. What little light there was, fell on him. The rest of the room was in deep shadow that even vampire eyes could not penetrate. 

In the silence, the soft breath from the foot of the bed was clearly audible. "Leon." 

He sat bolt upright, only slightly groggy. "Samar? What-" he began. 

"I knew you were awake. You stopped snoring." She sounded amused and strangely breathless. She moved around to the side of the bed. 

"I don't snore." He couldn't help but smile at the non sequitur. Her whimsical tone was reassuring and a nice change from her yelling at him, but he was still concerned. 

She perched on the bottom right corner of the bed and he felt the mattress sink a little. 

"What is it, Samar"? he asked gently. What was she doing in his room in the dead of night? And... where was her towering anger from earlier this evening? 

"I have made my choice." 

What decision had led her to creep into his room in the middle of the night? 

"I want to be a vampire." 

Oh. 

He relaxed and absorbed this bit of news. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes." She sounded impatient, but there was a bit of a tremor at the tail end of that answer. 

"What decided you?" he probed. 

Movement in the dark; maybe she shrugged. The mattress jounced gently as she flopped across the foot of it. "I miss it." 

He hesitated from probing further, sensing her reticence. 

"I've been more than human, Leon. Faster, stronger. I find I cannot accept being less," she added softly. 

He scooted backwards and slouched against the headboard. 

"You've thought about what you're giving up? You'll be bound to the bloodlust forever," he started carefully. "Won't be able to age or lead a normal life. You'll have to move all the time to keep people from noticing that you don't get older." He paused delicately before continuing. "Won't be able to have children." 

"Yeah," came the soft reply. "But, you know, Leon, I'm not that big a fan of kids. As for the rest..." Another shrug. "It doesn't sound that bad." 

There was something in her tone. Something flat and lifeless. 

Leon decided that, for this, telepathy was warranted. He wanted to feel the truth in her emotions. He touched her with his mind. ::_Samar?_:: 

She made a sound of acknowledgement and inquiry. 

::_Tell me the truth._:: 

"I am!" she flared. "I don't want to be human!" 

Not wanting to be human was not exactly the same thing as wanting to be a vampire, he noted privately. ::_Then tell me why you don't want to be human._:: 

He felt her anger spark. 

::_I don't doubt that what you told me was true,_:: he qualified. ::_But that's not the real reason you want to change._:: 

Silence. 

He could feel some pent up emotion but she managed to hide it. Residual mental shields, perhaps? 

Then he caught a wisp of it. Fear. 

::_Samar?:_: His telepathy was soft with sympathy. 

"I'm never going to be vulnerable like I was today again, Leon," she muttered through clenched teeth. She sat up and now he felt her fear like dark waves rolling over him. Fear and angry helplessness. 

"I'm not going to be food and I'm not going to be a victim. If I were a vampire, I could have kicked Damon's butt all the way down to the ground. He wouldn't even have tried anything in the first place!" 

I wouldn't be so sure of that, Leon thought dryly, but he kept it to himself. He wasn't sure he liked her reason for wanting to change, but somehow couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Maybe because she was partially right. 

He countered her force with mildness. "Would you consider waiting a year or two until you've aged a little more before changing?" 

He heard her pull a breath short and freeze. Then, before he could move, she threw herself down the length of the bed, crashing hard against him. He struggled to sit up in alarm, but she pinned him, face pressed against his chest. She felt warm and soft through the threadbare T-shirt he wore - and she was trembling. His arms closed around her gently. 

"You're not going to fight me," she mumbled into his shirt. 

He stroked a hand over her hair, smoothing it back around her shoulders. "Did you expect me to?" 

She nodded. 

::_I'm on your side, Samar._:: 

"Thanks." 

::_You're welcome._:: In spite of it all, Leon found himself smiling. 

He continued to run his hand down her hair gently and gave her time to compose herself. As seconds ticked by, he became increasingly aware of their position. He was sprawled on the bed, the covers askew and messily bunched at his waist; Samar was pressed against him lengthwise with his hands gently resting on her hair and her shoulder. 

::_If your brother found us like this, he'd kill me,_:: he commented dryly. In the back of his mind, he added, 'and I wouldn't blame him.' 

"If he tries, he's a hypocrite." Her voice was still muffled against him and her hands crept around his neck in an oddly needy fashion. His own hands found the small of her back and pressed, spread-fingered. 

It felt like heaven. 

Leon thought of Stefan and Elena sharing a room and while he wouldn't feel comfortable having Samar move in with him - even if they were chaste - the thought of being able to hold her like this every night was enough to make his breath hitch. 

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly. 

There was something very intimate about talking in the dark. Perhaps it was the lack of visual cues. All meaning lay in the tone of voice. All pretenses were stripped away. 

"I was thinking you should not be in my bed like this." 

He felt her stiffen and almost instantly regretted his words. But she didn't sit up or draw away as he expected. 

"You know what your problem is, Leon?" The bit of fire in her tone drove away the last of his sleepiness. 

"I think you're going to tell me anyway, Samar." 

She snorted. "You're alive in 1993 but acting like it's still 1693." She didn't have to say how she felt about that; the frustration in her tone was clear. 

He paused to let her go on. When she didn't, he sighed and shifted a little. ::_Samar, what would you have me do? Drag you into my bed after a few dates? Paw you in public?_:: 

"No!" she said mutinously. "I'm not asking you to turn into a sex-fiend. Just..." 

::_Yes?_:: 

She made an in articulate sound of rage and turned her head to press harder into the front of his shirt. His hands tightened around her in reaction. 

::_Samar? Why are you so unhappy? You cannot doubt my care._:: 

Stubborn silence was his only answer. 

::_Then perhaps I should show you in a way you cannot misunderstand._:: 

In the dark, you could bare your soul. 

He dropped his mental barriers enough to send a wave of emotion to her. 

Love. Longing. Protectiveness, doubt and insecurity, desire warring with inhibitions - everything he felt when he thought about her. He held nothing back. 

He felt her shudder and yearn towards him and cut off the emotions abruptly. There was only so much temptation a vampire could take, after all. 

She lifted her head and the breath she took was a little shaky. "I wish I were changed back already. Then I could show you..." Her eyes lifted, met his, her expression suddenly very serious. 

"Take it from my mind." 

He studied her for a long moment, then brushed a bit of hair out of her face tenderly. "Are you sure?" he asked, then yelped in surprise as she pinched his waist. 

"Yes, Leon, I'm sure. Stop asking me that all the time like I'm a half-wit and just do as I say!" she said impatiently. 

He lifted his hands in a good-natured gesture of surrender and slipped a tendril of thought into her mind. It was hard to remember that she was human again, without the solid mental barriers he usually found there. 

She shut her eyes, then opened them again. The look and her emotions hit him at once, making him nearly gasp. Hunger overlaid longing. Not so much for physical intimacy but for warmth and tenderness, for laughter and play, for equality and partnership and companionship. 

He sensed the frustration at how he kept the barriers of courtesy and proprietary between them, loving her from afar only. Felt her confusion and anger at wanting more. Tasted her bitter self-castigation at needing more than was given. 

It hurt. 

He reacted by instinct, hauling her into his arms and cradling her close, one hand holding the back of her head, the arm wrapped around her waist. 

He was still linked to her, could feel her contentment at the contact. He saw - and felt - how she envisioned things between them - all the warmth and fire of their odd friendship but with much greater depth of emotion underneath. 

The question of propriety had no place in this picture. It was all pure emotion. 

Without thinking about it, he dropped his shields, opening up his emotions to answer hers. It was... electrifying, the strength of the feelings welling up. His pulse sped and strengthened, making blood pound loudly in his ears. 

It was natural - almost necessary - to tip Samar's head up and close his lips over hers, as if kissing her suddenly became as important as breathing - moreso. The kiss was both outlet and intensification of the emotional storm building up. 

Leon did not know how long they stayed like that. When they eventually broke contact, he was breathing hard and his body was unbearably tense. Samar's breath was also audibly ragged as she rested her forehead against his chest and she, in turn was pliant and yielding in his arms. 

Neither of them spoke and the silence stretched, though not uncomfortably. 

"I love you," he said finally, breathing the words into her hair. 

She made a small sound, then rose up till their faces were level and their lips brushed. "I think… I love you, too," she said, sounding oddly shy. 

The words were more felt than heard as her mouth moved against his. Then, a little louder, "Do you know how long I've been wanting to do that?" she demanded, a touch of her old irascibility in the question. 

Leon, having touched her mind, had some idea. At that point, he made up for it the only way he could, and kissed her again. 

* * *

(_13 October 1993_) 

Eiran came to thoroughly disoriented. 

He stared at a vaguely familiar ceiling, then craned his neck to see the rest of the room in an effort to place his surroundings. Walls of glowing wood contrasted with off-white-lacquered furniture. A glimpse of trees through the billowing curtains flanking the open window. 

Someone stirred beside the bed. 

The dark-haired man leaned forward to prop his wrists on top of the covers. "Welcome back, Eiran," he said quietly. There was gravity in his expression, but also relief. 

"Stefan..." Eiran trailed off, confused. Now he knew where he was; in the lodge in Seattle. But how had he gotten there? The last thing he remembered was being attacked by werewolves in New York- 

He jackknifed upright, then ended up hitting the pillow again with a gasp as the sharp movement raised stinging protest in his body. 

The vampire - ex-vampire, Eiran corrected, noting subtle differences in him - was on his feet, one hand holding Eiran's shoulder down, firm but gentle. "Easy. I don't want Madelene blaming me for ruining her good work," he admonished. 

Eiran's fingers closed around his arm, his manner urgent. "Stefan, the others..." 

The Italian man met his eyes for a brief moment and then looked away. It was answer enough. 

They were dead, then. His mind could barely take in that fact. His hand fell away as Stefan straightened. 

"I'll get Elena. She refused to leave your side until I promised to wake her when you regained consciousness," he said, turning to the door. 

"Let her rest," Eiran protested. 

Stefan shook his head, giving him a small smile over one shoulder. "I promised," he said simply and then he was gone. 

Eiran laid his head back on the pillow and tried to gather his thoughts. He still didn't know how he had ended up back in Seattle and try as he might, his memories yielded no clue about what had occurred between the time the werewolves had burst into the apartment in New York and when he had woken up. The last thing he remembered was being tackled from behind and feeling hot breath and cruel teeth on his neck. 

And Nelson, smiling and calm, on the couch. 

His fist clenched. Had the Turned betrayed them? Why? 

"Eiran?" 

The soft voice called him out of his grim thoughts. He turned his head on the pillow to see Elena leave the doorway and come towards him. She ignored the chair Stefan had occupied and perched on the bed instead. 

Aware of the lightening of his heart at her presence, he struggled to sit up. She placed a hand on his shoulder to still him, unconsciously echoing Stefan's movement. 

"Stay still," she told him but he stubbornly resisted. When they had compromised with him propped up on a pile of pillows, she settled back and folded her hands on her lap. 

"Eiran, I'm so sorry," she began in a small voice. 

The unexpected words surprised him. "Why do you say that, milady?" 

"We shouldn't have sent you out into danger like that," Elena said. The fact that she was nearly whispering did not lessen the harsh anguish in her tone. 

He extended his hand slightly towards her, palm up, in a conciliatory gesture. "We knew the risks, Elena, and we agreed to go." 

Her head stayed bent despite his feeble attempt at reassuring her. Heavy silence descended. "How did I end up back here?" he asked, finally. 

That made her look up, even if it didn't make her any happier. "Why don't you tell me what you remember first?" she suggested. Her guarded tone called answering wariness from him, but he did as she asked and told her about the attack. 

"That's all you remember?" she asked, frowning in thought. 

He nodded. 

"And this happened right after we spoke on the telephone?" Another nod. 

Elena looked away and Eiran watched her bite her lip in profile. "He had you for four days," she began. "You were returned yesterday, severely injured. Only you," she specified. "Maddy just managed to save you." 

Eiran kept quiet, waiting for her to continue. He could sense that there was something else she wasn't telling him and he braced himself for unpleasant news. 

It was a while coming. 

"The-the vampires said that you were covered with werewolf scent. We don't know for sure but I think you need to know that there is a possibility... if your wounds were made by a 'wolf... you might..." She trailed off, unable to actually say the words, nor look at him, apparently. 

He could only signal understanding, feeling numb. He had known being attacked by a werewolf may result in becoming one himself but he had not made that connection since he woke. Now that the realization dawned on him, he felt suffocated. Immediately, he took stock of himself. Was his sense of smell more acute than before? His hearing? 

He shook his head to clear it of senseless brooding. "We'll know with the next full moon, I suppose." 

"In three weeks," Elena confirmed. She lost a bit of her rigidity, having gotten that bit of difficult news out. Her eyes when they found him were sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Eiran. I don't know if I can Turn werewolves," she admitted. 

Her fingers twisted hard around themselves in frustration. He patted them, trying to console her. The cold bite of a ring on his skin made him stop and hold her hand up so he could see it. He stared at the diamond sparkling there. It seemed to mesmerize him. 

"Stefan and I are engaged," she said. The words seemed to come from far away, muffled by that odd sense of displacement - of surrealism - that one gets when one's fears come to life. 

He looked from her tremulous smile to her eyes, all aglow, and realized that he had been staring for too long. 

Suddenly, her expression changed, sharpened. He wondered if some of the cold anguish he felt had shown on his face, but her eyes darted around the room as if searching for something. 

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and half-stood, still scanning the room. 

"He's here." 

He didn't ask 'who?'; it didn't matter. Her tone, tight and hostile, told him that whoever it was was dangerous. Eiran immediately stiffened in defense. 

Abandoning any attempt to recover his emotional balance from the series of crushing news he had just received, he moved. Slowly, carefully feeling his limits, he raised himself to a sitting position, and then slid his legs off the bed to test if they would hold him. 

They did, if just barely. He felt disgust and impatience at his own weakness. How was he going to back Elena up, much less protect her, in this state? 

He opened his mouth to call for Stefan - anyone; they would need reinforcements. 

But his voice froze in his throat as a strange, tingling disorientation came over him. He felt abstracted, as if his limbs were not his own. 

Elena was standing in front of him beside the bed, her head swiveling from left to right as she surveyed the room. 

He suddenly had the mad urge to knock her away. He thought at first that it was sheer protective instinct, however misled. But the ferocity behind the compulsion told him otherwise. 

Fear flared in him, jolting aside some of the abstraction. He could feel his body again, enough to still the fist that was about to rise. His lips skinned back over his teeth. He _will not_ hurt Elena, ever! 

"I can sense you," she whispered savagely. Then her voice rose, "Show yourself, coward." 

The compulsion increased. He redoubled his attempt at control but it swelled, huge and uncontainable. He tried to physically turn it away, twisting aside, grabbing his right arm with his left hand to stay it. He gritted his teeth, grimly. 

A stab of pain lanced through his head and he let out a strangled cry. Taken by surprise, his resistance slipped. 

It was all that was needed. 

The geas screamed through him, pulling his expression into a vicious, bloodthirsty mask. His hand rose, the force of his entire body going into the blow- 

"Eiran?" Elena turned, hearing his cry. 

His fist connected with her jaw, smashing her head aside. She was sent sprawling facedown across the bed, and lay where she had fallen, motionless. 

Eiran could only stand and stare, limp with shock. The compulsion was gone, leaving him feeling drained. Self-revulsion rose and he bent to touch her with a shaky hand. "What have I done?" 

"Nothing you need to regret," a voice came unexpectedly and he whirled. 

The man had fine, angular features and the eyes that met his were the color of jade, smooth and almost reflective. His bronzed skin made the gold bands on his arms, wrists and neck glow and his hair was a sleek, inky black river disappearing past his shoulders. 

He was the specter Terry's scrying had revealed in the Palace in Antalya. But it was also the one... in his dream. And later... 

Memory came back in a flood, as if some restraint on him had been lifted. This man had completely possessed him, body, mind and spirit. He would have done anything he had commanded. He had- 

'I need her incapacitated. She will recognize me no matter what form I take,' the gold-skinned man had told him. 'But _you_ will be to catch her unawares and disarm her for me.' 

Eiran felt violently ill. 

"You have done well, young shapeshifter," the Old One interrupted his flashbacks as he strode forward. The weird, flat eyes fixed on the unconscious blonde, a sense of satisfaction behind the bland face. 

Eiran stiffened defensively, moving to block the other's path. 

The Old One checked his step and looked back at him. It was an assessing look. "Do you mean to stand between me and this one, my wolf?" 

The reference made his heart sink, but Eiran lifted his chin defiantly. "Since you mean her harm, then, yes, I _will_ stand between you." 

"I know how you feel about her. Would you like to lie with her, and then satiate your hunger?" The question was delivered smoothly. Before Eiran can brace himself for whatever the other planned, he was hit with overpowering desire and bloodlust simultaneously. 

A groan tore from his throat, an animal sound of mindless need. He threw his head back, teeth bared and body arching. Just as sharply as he had bent back, he doubled over again, burying his face in his hands and muffling the low howl that rose in him. 

He nearly rounded on Elena right then and there, but the initial reaction had bought him precious seconds to get over the shock of the need. He managed to hang on to his control by a precarious thread. 

Head hanging low, he slowly uncovered his face and panted, "You know how I feel about her." He looked at the Old One through hair falling disheveled into his eyes, expression going feral from both need and anger. "Then you know I love her too much to do anything she would not want." He straightened his bowed shoulders, keeping careful hold of the desires that still raged in him. 

"I would never hurt her. Nor let anyone else do so." 

"Never?" The Old One sounded chillingly amused. "Shall I show you how empty that boastful vow is? You will draw her blood, and simply because I say so." 

The utter surety in his voice chased goosebumps over Eiran's skin. This was one who held sway over him. Folly indeed, he realized belatedly, to challenge that authority so directly. But there was nothing he could do now but face his tormentor in silence. 

And brace himself. 

And yet, he was still unprepared. 

His right hand burned, as if dipped in hot oil and kept there. He stifled a yelp and lifted it. Five small, sharp, black claws broke through the skin at the ends of his fingers and the back of that hand sprouted a pelt of fine grey fur. 

He stared at it disbelievingly. 

"Why such surprise? You are mine," the black-haired man reminded. "Every part of you, even that which you yourself have yet to master." 

The pain had gone beyond what could be tolerated. Eiran's mind was blanking out, numbing in defense against the continuous agony. 

"Now," the Old One said, a touch of smug satisfaction in his tone, "Spill that human's blood." 

It was as if some force spun him around and propelled him to stand over the fallen woman on the bed. The flat command bypassed his brain, going straight to his treacherous hand, which swung obediently down, seeking Elena's flesh. The black claws touched her skin, then sunk enough to actually draw blood before Eiran managed to rein it back. 

Clutching left hand around right wrist, he threw a desperate glance over one shoulder. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "What do you hope to accomplish? She cannot die!" 

"Perhaps," was the unruffled response. "But simply harming her will make you wish for your own death. Will you stand aside now?" 

"No!" Eiran retorted furiously. Moving as if his body was made of ungainly wooden blocks, he turned his back on her, facing the Old One squarely once again. "What is the point in resisting? Elena _will_ destroy you, just as she did your brethren. You cannot stop her, cannot escape. Your time is done!" He flung defiance at his tormentor, his only weapon, however paltry. 

The slanted eyes narrowed. "My patience is wearing thin. Stand aside. I'll not tell you again." 

Eiran merely stared back at him. This was the being who had made him a werewolf, who was causing him such pain now. It was he whom Eiran had been searching for for so long, who kept him away from Elena's side, who would harm her now. 

Eiran felt hatred burn in him, making his face heat. 

_::Fool!_:: The curse rang in his head, followed almost immediately by stabbing pain that exploded behind his eyes and drove him to his knees. _No..._

Wave after wave of anguish crashed over him, breaking him, his will and spirit. He must have blacked out. When he came to, he was flat on the floor, breathing like he'd run uphill for miles. 

He pushed himself up painstakingly, moving like an old and feeble man. He could not have lost consciousness for very long because the Old One was just moving towards the bed, unimpeded. As the sixth walked by, Eiran reached out and grasped the passing ankle as firmly as he could. 

The gold-skinned man stopped and looked down at him, eyes flat with displeasure. "You still think to oppose me?" 

"I won't let you touch her. Not while I draw breath," Eiran got out painfully. He knew he brought his death with those words, but it was the truth; he could not let the Old One act without intervening while he could. 

Perhaps he could buy the others time enough to save Elena. 

The ancient being crouched over him and took hold of his chin, craning Eiran's head back cruelly. Eyes of jade green with that strange reflective sheen bore into his. 

"You would have been a strong member of the pack," the Old One said quietly, sounding thoughtful. "Had you chosen other loyalties." He released Eiran's chin and stood. "What a pity." 

He stepped forward and Eiran's clawed hand snagged the hem of his off-white robe and held on. 

The material parted around the black claws and reformed but the Old One stopped again and watched him with narrowed eyes as Eiran struggled to his knees, then to his feet, slowly, but obstinately. 

Swaying, unsteady, he took a staggering step sideways, putting himself squarely between directly between the Old One and Elena. 

"Not...while... I... have breath." And he swung his single, clawed hand at the gold-skinned man. 

Unsurprisingly, the blow did not connect and Eiran caught his balance before he fell flat on his face. He stood, watching the Old One for his next move, trying to control his unstable stance. 

A cold finger drew a line down his back and gasped. The Old One merely looked, not moving. 

The next instant, the line was afire and he felt the cloth of his shirt sticking to his skin. More lines were forming, cold then burning, on his chest, arms, legs, back, even his face. Bright blood blossomed on his clothes and ran down his body. 

Eiran hissed and lunged forward, clawed hand drawing back to swing. 

A new line ran across the back of one leg and his knee buckled. He went down hard and with a cry more of despair than pain. After that, the cuts went deeper, hitting muscles and turning his body into a limp mess. He found himself sprawled on the floor again, in a pool of his own blood, blinking to clear his eyes. 

This time, when the Old One stepped forward, he could not move to stop him. 

_No... No.., _he thought brokenly. As strength ebbed from his limbs, he could only lie motionless, raging in his head. 

Only his chest rose and fell and his blood oozed onto the floor. All else was still. His surroundings were darkening, or perhaps it was only his vision. 

He thought of the woman lying unconscious on the bed, whom he had failed. He felt a single tear form and run down his face, followed by another. 

_Elena. _Her name was said in his mind alone; he was unable to move his lips or produce any sound anymore. _I'm so sorry._

_Please forgive me._

His last thought was a desperate wish for her safety - and an unheard avowal of love.  
  


* * *

Makoe ran without being aware of his surroundings. His entire being was focused on that one room on the second floor of the main lodge, where a surge of hauntingly familiar Power had come. 

He had not felt it in almost two thousand years, but the sense of it - and the mind behind it - was unmistakable. 

His feet never seemed to touched the floor. Perhaps he shapeshifted and winged his way up the stairs; he did not know. He vaguely realized that he passed Jerrick but for once, the effacing redhead did not hold his attention. 

Down the hall, he could see Stefan beating on the door with a fist and calling, "Elena! Eiran! Is everything all right?" 

Then he was there, almost shouldering the ex-vampire aside. He flattened his hands on the door and sent a thought inside, seeking the mind he had sensed. 

He was met with a light, identifying brush, and then the wood against his hands disappeared. He entered the room and zeroed in on the gold-skinned man in a form-fitting white jumpsuit. 

They sized each other up and Makoe felt the familiar ache in his jaw that meant his fangs were trying to lengthen. With ease of long experience, he held them back. There was no need for that. Not yet. 

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together and Makoe uttered a soft statement into the charged silence between them. "So it's true; you're an Old One." 

Before the other man could reply, Stefan rushed towards Elena, who was huddled against the headboard of the room's only bed. Her face was turned away from them and hidden by her long hair. 

Makoe could see her trembling from where he stood. 

Stefan met an invisible barrier surrounding the blonde and got the breath knocked out of him in the process. The ex-vampire pushed forward again, then began hammering on an unseen, but unyielding surface. "Elena!" he shouted but she did not acknowledge him. Stefan beat a frantic tattoo with his fists then stopped and stared at her in worry and confusion. 

It was only then that Makoe noticed the heavy scent of blood in the air. For the first time, he took note the figure on the floor, covered angry red slashes and lying in a scarlet pool. So that was why his jaw was aching. He knew his face was a stiff, impassive mask. 

The Old One spoke. "How did you come to be here?" 

Makoe met the jade eyes. That much, at least, had not changed. "Coincidence. Chance." 

"I find that hard to believe. You party with those who wish my destruction. The coincidence is too great." 

"Believe what you will." 

He felt the line of his lips harden in chill amusement. "Then believe what you will. Truth transcends mere opinion," he quoted. 

The Old One studied him with what looked like abstract curiosity. "You throw my old words back at me. You have not forgotten, have you?" 

"Did you expect me to, _tràill_?" He might have spat the question out bitterly, but it came out icily controlled instead. 

Rather than be taken aback by the hostility, the other made a faint sound that could have meant a hundred things. Makoe was abruptly thrown back two millennia when he had stood with this man in a leather tent with the wind howling outside, and he had not been sure which of them was master and which the slave. 

They stared at each other, both level and cool, silently fighting for the upper hand. 

"Elena," Stefan was saying in a soft, pleading voice. 

Movement in the periphery of Makoe's vision, and then his one-time slave broke their locked gazes. 

"So glad you could join us," he greeted Jerrick with a tone of smooth malevolence, like honey over ice shards. He seemed to forget all about Makoe's presence, but the vampire was not fooled. 

The lame man hobbled painfully into the room, pale eyes taking in Eiran on the floor, and Elena curled up in the corner. "What have you done?" he demanded, eyes fixed on the blond girl. 

The sixth Old One lifted a hand in a pacifying gesture. "Nothing that should inconvenience you overmuch. But I did say we would make a game of this." 

The blithe tone sent Makoe's guard shooting up. His eyes narrowed as he studied Elena. They had spent the past two months searching for him. Now, here he stood. She should have been unmaking him and Turning the vampires, but instead, she was huddled in the corner like a frightened animal. What had the Old One done to her? 

"What are you playing at?" Apparently, Jerrick did not trust the Old One either. 

"Your task is to unmake me. So here I am, to meet my fate." In a grandiose gesture, the gold-skinned man spread his hands and bowed slightly. "However," and the tone made Makoe's innards clench in dread. 

"I did some research and came up with some interesting questions." The Old One began to pace languidly. 

And as he moved, he shifted form. 

"Nature wants to eradicate us 'unnatural beings' who violate her order of things. That would include our undead offspring." He circled Makoe and when he emerged on the other side of the vampire and stood in front of him, the Old One had lost half a foot in height. His hair had shortened and lightened; he sported riotous curls of dark-blond and his eyes had deepened to hazel. The white jumpsuit had turned into a simple shift of undyed cloth, belted with a length of woven leather. 

Makoe held himself stiffly and made himself look into the wide, innocent eyes, with that wicked spark behind them. He kept a tight control of his expression and his shields. 

"Still unwilling to open your heart, are you?" his 'slave' asked softly and the voice was high and clear, as light as a thistle on barrows. 

"Not till I learn better," Makoe retorted coldly. 

The Old One smirked, and Makoe felt the swift, sharp mental probe that he was unable to stop. "It would seem that we are both wrong." With a knowing look, he spun away before Makoe had a chance to react. 

The shapeshifter's features and form melted into another image as he continued in his lecturing tone. "So Nature sends an executor - incidentally, breaking one of her own rules to do so - who is endowed with Powers to exterminate our kind and reverse what was done to the pitiful mortals." The hair straightened, lightened to pale blonde and the body grew taller. The homespun lengthened and darkened, becoming jeans and a sweater. 

A clone of Elena paused over Eiran's still body and looked down with an expression of fleeting regret. Then the expression was gone and the Old One turned around, resuming his lofty stance. 

Walking towards the real Elena, he melded back into his previous form, bronze-skinned, clad in white, with the black hair gathered at mid-back with the filigreed gold clasp. 

He stopped in front of the human girl and bent to put himself level with her face. He brushed aside the bright hair and his voice dropped to something between thoughtful and dreamy. "That made me wonder: considering her dislike for undead and undying, would Nature continue to lend her destructive force to her executor if the executor-" he grasped Elena's chin firmly and forced it up so that they all saw. 

Dainty fangs indented her lower lip. 

"-became one of us?" 

The blonde lifted anguished eyes to Stefan, who froze, horror plain on his face. Her eyelids dropped, squeezed tight, and she jerked out of the Old One's hold, hiding her face from view once again. She missed seeing the ex-vampire fall to his knees, hands limp by his sides. 

The sixth straightened with a short, sharp laugh. "And since our little bane here has not tried to unmake me yet, I would say, the answer to that would be, 'no'." He faced the three of them and smiled amiably. 

"But of course, Nature decreed that her tool would not die until the task has been completed. So perhaps she should stake herself and come back human and _then_ unmake me. But again, that begs the question; does the immortality geas still hold, if she dies as a vampire?" He tipped his head mockingly, inviting a response. None was forthcoming and after a drawn out moment of silence, he went on, apparently satisfied. 

"So where does that leave us?" he asked rhetorically. "The fair Elena can either live out the rest of her life as a vampire and there will be two more Old Ones left in the world." He arrowed a sharp look at Jerrick. 

Makoe followed his gaze and saw the implacable hate in the pale blue eyes. 

The sixth continued. "_Or_, she could drive a stake through her own heart, take the chance that she _will_ come back human and unmake me." He stopped in front of Stefan and looked down at the vampire with an expression of false cheer. "Of course, if she doesn't, she'll just be dead." 

He spun to face the girl, missing the venomous look Stefan gave him. 

"So, what is it going to be, Elena? Eternal bloodlust or gamble with death?" 

With a sleight-of-hand action, a stake appeared in the Old One's hand. He bent before her, offering it like a well-trained waiter. 

"What do you say?"   
  


* * *

* _tràill_ means 'slave' in Gaelic. However, since Makoe is supposed to be a Gaul from two thousand years ago, I'm quite sure the language must have shifted to some extent. If someone would like to point out the more accurate translation, I'll be more than happy to amend it. 

And in case you're wondering what happened, the Old One changed Eiran into a werewolf when he captured him in New York, and subjugated him - sort of brainwashed him. Then he brought him back to Seattle, tortured him to make it convincing and delivered him back to Elena to infiltrate the group. The aim was to get close enough to render Elena helpless so that the Old One could take over. After getting rid of Eiran, the Old One changed Elena into a vampire. 


	58. Chapter Fifty Seven: End Game

**Summary**: There was a price to pay for Elena coming back. To win a life with Stefan and her own humanity back, she must fulfill her promise to destroy the Old Ones.

**Disclaimers**: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.

**Date posted:** 13 June 2004 

Dear readers, I'd apologize for the long delay, but the truth is, I'm surprised/ecstatic that I'm posting a chapter now. I had expected the next update to be sometime in September, due to demands of work and such. So anyway, I do hope you enjoy the chapter. There's just one more part to go. That WILL take a while, since it's wholly unwritten as yet. 

As always, feedback of any kind if muchly welcomed! To those who took time to drop me a comment, many many thanks! You guys brighten my day! 

**Senia Naku**: To you, since you've been watching for this update _every day_, I owe an apology, perhaps. grins Well, I hope you deem the chapter worth the wait. Don't worry, one more chapter and the tale is done and your misery ceases. Tell me what you think! As for Damon -- see the comments I'm going to put after the final chapter. 

**winry16**: Thanks for the encouragement! Yep, there's quite a bit packed into the last few chapters, I suppose. And one more to go! Phew! It's going to be a toughie! I don't have very many more fics published. At present on FFN, the only other thing is a short Elfquest ficlet. After _Leaf_, we'll see... 

**L. Elaine Thompson**: LJS rocks! I hope you like _Leaf_ nearly as much as The VD! 

**Kichiko**: Very simply, thanks for staying with me!

* * *

Fifty Seven

(_13 October 1993_) 

Elena opened her eyes. She blinked once, feeling odd and trying to figure out why. She rolled over and sat up, drew a deep breath- 

The world spun. 

Blood rush, she thought. I must have moved too fast. It's just blood- 

_Hunger._

It hit her like something tangible, the smell of blood, making her veins burn in a way that was familiar, a way she had not felt in years. 

Not since she'd been a vampire. 

Stiffening, she looked around wildly. Her surroundings triggered memory and it all came back to her in a flash like lightning. 

Eiran. The Old One. 

Then she saw the body on the floor and it stole her breath. No. "_No!_" 

It was Eiran, lying in a pool of his own blood, just as he had, two days ago. Disbelief hit her, numbing her mind. 

It couldn't be happening again! Where was Maddy? She had to get Maddy to heal him, to save him before it was too late! 

Fighting panic, ignoring the calm little voice that told her it was already too late, she scrambled off the bed and towards the door, stepping carefully to avoid the blood. 

She hadn't taken a step or two before the hot, coppery smell hit her again and she was reminded of the earlier sensation that had woken her. 

Bloodlust. The urge to bend and drink from the pool of cooling scarlet liquid was almost irresistible. Elena gagged, choked, pressing fingers to her lips. What was happening? How could she be feeling bloodlust? She wasn't a vampire- 

Something - someone - on the other side of the room shifted slightly, calling attention to himself. 

The man was lounging against the chest of drawers set against the wall, and Elena could have sworn that he had not been there a moment ago. He had golden skin, a lithe, graceful body, and fine, exotically slanted features that gave his face a faintly fox-ish cast. 

But more than that, she _knew_ him. She knew that his appearance meant nothing - he could change it at will. And his Name was as clear to her as her own. 

It was the sixth Old One. 

The shock of seeing him there collided with sudden understanding, shooting adrenaline through her. 

"You did this," she accused, fury anesthetizing her from the faintly suffocating sensation of blood-hunger. All thought of getting Maddy had fled. She was going to make this creature _pay_. 

"What? That?" The black-haired head tilted towards the gory sight on the floor. "Why, yes," he admitted blithely. "And you, as well." 

"What do you mean?" she snapped, fists balling at her sides and defensive against the implication that she had somehow been responsible for what had happened to Eiran. She could not have... but she had been unconscious; she didn't _know_ what had happened. 

"You," he explained patiently. "I did that, too." 

"What did you do to me?" Defensive no longer, suspicion and dread reared up, chilling her. The vulnerability was enough to let the bloodlust intrude again. And to her horror, Elena felt the half-remembered sensation of her canines lengthening. But... that was not possible. She wasn't a vampire! 

Her hands flew to her mouth. She wasn't imagining things; her finger came away red, pricked by a needle-fine point of an elongated fang. With preternatural sensitivity, she could feel the smooth, hard length indenting her lower lip. 

"That," the Old One clarified, his tone still maddeningly pleasant. 

"What...did you..." she began faintly, still staring at the bead of red on the tip of her finger. The question died half uttered. 'What' was obvious enough. But... how? And why? 

"Elena?" It was Stefan, and he was tapping on the closed door of the room, trying the knob, which appeared to be locked. Elena reflexively backpedaled and sat down abruptly when the backs of her knees came into contact with the bed. 

"Elena! Eiran! Is everything all right?" This time, Stefan knocked a little harder. 

Her hands were covering her lips as she stared at the door and she shook her head slowly, silently. Oh no... Stefan. If he saw her... 

She blindly slid further away, moving to press defensively against the headboard, hugging her knees. She had carelessly stepped into the puddle of blood and her heels left dark smears on the covers. 

The Old One suddenly pushed away from the wall, his manner shifting from languid to alert. He took two steps forward, facing the door. Elena spared him a quick look and saw that he was gazing at it as if he could see right through it to the corridor beyond. 

The wood... _shimmered_ and disappeared. Elena recoiled and turned away before Stefan could see her. Shutting her eyes, she rested her forehead against her up-drawn knees, hair falling around forward, shielding her from sight. 

She heard Stefan coming closer, then he stopped. Half afraid of why he had stopped, she threw a quick glance up through her hair and saw that he was pressed against an invisible barrier. He hammered at it, his hand seeming to strike solid air, and called to her. He became frantic as she tried not to hear and did not acknowledge him. 

She had to think, had to clear her head. It was difficult, with the enticing metallic tang of copper in her mouth and the burning in her veins, with the panic threatening to overwhelm her. She forced her mind away, fingers tightening over her knees until her knuckles trembled from the strain of the grip. 

Jerrick arrived then but Elena was focused inwards and barely noticed. She fought to establish priorities, banishing emotion. 

The most obvious was that she had to unmake the Old One. Once she had done so, she could Turn the vampires gathered little more than a mile away. Then she would Turn herself and everything would be fine. 

Except where before, from some unknown part of her, rose a rush of Power that directed her to utterly eradicate the immortals, there was only aching, echoing emptiness. 

That realization shattered her concentration and calm. Fear and bloodlust roared back in to fill the void and she was lost again. Amid the numb whirl of need and despair, she felt her chin grasped and forced upwards and for a moment, she could only stare into the flat green eyes of the Old One. 

She was brought sharply back to her surroundings, her eyes darted towards Stefan. Too late; he had seen her fangs, and his shell-shocked expression and white face almost made her dissolve to tears then and there. She jerked her head aside, not wanting to see the proof of his rejection. 

The malicious laughter of the sixth immortal rang in her ears and she felt a blazing surge of hatred. The emotion superceded her helplessness, sharpened her resolve to destroy him. 

"Nature decreed that her tool would not die until the task has been completed," he was saying and Elena stared at him out of the corner of her eye. "But does the immortality geas still hold, if she dies as a vampire?" 

Hope, which had begun to flutter delicate wings in her heart, died as Elena found the answer within herself. She could not unmake him as she was. She could not Turn herself - or anyone else - without the Power she released when he was unmade. 

It was an impasse. 

"So where does that leave us?" the sixth one asked with a distinctly careless air. "The fair Elena can either live out the rest of her life as a vampire and there will be two more Old Ones left in the world. _Or_, she could drive a stake through her own heart, take the chance that she _will_ come back human and unmake me. Of course, if she doesn't, she'll just be dead." 

Elena's new vampiric hearing caught the small sound of protest that came from Stefan's throat and she almost, _almost_ looked at him. She caught herself just in time; if she looked into his eyes again, she _would_ lose her fragile control. 

She drew a long, shuddering breath - and caught the scent of blood again. Gulping convulsively, she shut her eyes. The realization of just _whose_ blood it was made tears prickled behind her lids. 

_Oh Eiran. How did it get this way?_

Grief welled up, trying to force a sob past her lips. She drew another breath, choking. And then another, until she steadied herself. 

When she opened her eyes again, the old one was coming back towards her, and she lifted her head in defiance, meeting his opaque jade eyes squarely. She watched at him, unblinking, as he offered her the stake with a little bow. 

"What do you say?" 

She kept silent for a long moment, staring daggers at him. He was unaffected, holding perfectly still, as if he could remain in that inclined position indefinitely. His expression was viciousness and cheer, but beneath that, there was something dead and uncaring. 

Elena realized with a start that she still knew his Name. If she was completely deprived of her Powers, would she still be able to know that? She experimentally thought of something in the language of the immortals. It came as easily as English. 

Her mind began to race. 

::_If I can still read his Name... then I still have a measure of Power. But I can't unmake him, the vampirism is in the way. But... If - if - I can't come back, dying as a vampire..._

::_I can still come back, dying as a human. Can I Turn...myself? If I can Turn myself, I can come back. I can unmake him._:: 

She didn't know what showed on her face but he was watching her like a hawk, although he still hadn't moved a muscle. 

Elena looked past him, at Jerrick. The pale blue eyes were burning and not wholly sane. Elena felt a chill and broke eye contact. No help there. 

Elena turned the situation over in her mind, struggling for clear thought through the intense scrutiny, the burning in her veins, the anguish eating at her will. 

She could not unmake him as a vampire. But, if not all her abilities were gone, perhaps she could still Turn vampires? She _had_ changed vampires by force of will and what Power was granted her by Nature, before she had drawn on the wild Power released by an Old One's unmaking. 

If she could Turn herself now, she reasoned, feeling as if she were wading through a quagmire. If she could make herself human again, she could unmake him. 

She lowered her eyes to the stake he held. Slowly, with a hand trembling from bloodlust as much as uncertainty, she took it. 

"Elena, _no_!" Stefan's reaction was pure violence. In the periphery of her vision, she saw him surge up and throw himself against the invisible barrier. She thought she saw his face twist to a mask of fierce negation. Still, she kept her gaze carefully averted from him, looking blindly at the length of sharpened wood she held. 

The sixth seemed to hesitate, then stepped back. 

Elena forced herself to forget everyone and everything else and concentrated on only one thought: _I can do this. I'm going to Turn myself. I want to be human._

The last, she repeated, like a mantra, letting the sentence build in her mind, loom in her resolve. It grew, solidified, calmed her. 

And, slowly, she felt the first stirring of a half-familiar energy, like a slumbering dragon uncoiling within her. A restlessness that filled her, answering the desire she had raised, to renounce her vampirism. 

She nearly lost her concentration as excitement reared up. Gripping the stake, she once again looked up and met Jerrick's eyes. She only nodded, but he understood the summons in the gesture and came towards her. 

When he came up against the barrier, he looked expressionlessly at the golden-skinned man, whose heavy-lidded gaze showed his contempt as he allowed the unprepossessing redhead to pass. 

Jerrick stopped before her, standing beside the bed. 

She handed him the stake, ignoring Stefan's fierce, half-whispered protest. Once again, she had to stop herself from looking at him; if she did, her resolve would crumble and she would succumb to fear and despair again. 

No, she needed to be strong right then, and Jerrick would help. It was what he was good for. 

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, so that only she heard. 

She gave him a look that was both blazing and frigid. "You and I both know this is the only answer," she snapped. She did not need him to undermine her certainty with false concern, now of all times. Besides, they both knew he would never let her go so long as there was a chance their task could be completed. "Just do it, Jerrick. Right through the heart when I tell you to." 

She shut her eyes and reached once again, inward, letting her need and desire build, feeding that loathing for the burning in her veins until the Power she had been given stirred in answer. 

_Yes. I want to be human..._

Her fingers clasped around each other and she felt the bite of her engagement ring, the symbol of everything that mattered most to her. 

_I want to be human..._

She clung to that statement, putting pure emotion behind it until it blotted out all other thought and desire. She felt the Power surge to answer, eager now, building, roaring up and out- 

"Now," she breathed. 

The pain was indescribable. She might have screamed; she wasn't sure. Wood poisoning, right through the heart. Elena almost lost hold of her resolve, drowning in pain. She groped for it and hung on to the threads with desperate strength. 

_I want to be human..._

There was pain, and her strength was ebbing. As if from far away, she felt a hot wave of Power surged out of her, like a wild animal released from its cage. 

_I want to be Turned._

Distantly, a burst of warmth spread through her, numbing the pain, softening the bloodlust. 

Elena knew relief. She didn't know if it was working. Her mind was blanking, so it was difficult to hold a coherent thought and it was difficult to care. 

She remembered dying. She'd had some practice at it. 

Elena exhaled one last time, and then went still.

* * *

The barrier collapsed suddenly, spilling Stefan forward. 

His hands, which had been pressed to the invisible wall, took most of the impact but he barely noticed, completely intent on Elena. He crawled towards her, unsteady, trembling. She lay, half-propped against the headboard, head tipped to one side, eyes wide and staring. 

The stake protruding from her chest was almost painful to look at and as he reached her, Jerrick yanked it out ruthlessly. Her body jerked, but it was sheer reflex, not voluntary movement; she was dead. That fact crashed down on him, stealing his breath. After everything that had happened, it was inconceivable that it should end like this. His mind could not accept that. No. She would live. She could not be dead. She could not have left him again... 

"Elena," he whispered and his voice wobbled uncontrollably. 

Rising to his knees, he reached up and laid a hand against her cheek; still warm. But not for long. 

With a tug, he pulled her limp body into his lap on the floor and cradled her. It was too déjà vu, too much like the previous time he had held her while her life essence slipped away. Then, they had been sitting in the shadows of the old crypt and Katherine had been reduced to dust. Elena had talked to him and Damon... 

His hand trembled as he gently shut her eyes. His own squeezed close. Three times he had lost her and each time redoubled the pain. He felt his mind go blank, overloaded by the sheer force of his emotions. A small, odd part of him whispered that he would go mad soon. 

A hand fell on his shoulder and he snapped around to see Jerrick leaning heavily on his cane. "Believe in her. She will be back." 

The bland words, said while her body cooled in his arms, ravaged, lifeless, with blood soaking the powder blue sweater and that ugly, gaping wound laying bare her ribcage, made something snap in Stefan. He was suddenly murderous. 

"You!" he snarled. "This is all _your_ doing!" 

The blue eyes, a pale, poor imitation of Elena's vibrant jewel-tone, regarded him without emotion. In a different time and place, Stefan might have said Jerrick looked tired. Now, he rose to his feet, lethal rage taking over his mind and body, coloring his vision. It was like the loss of control that had seized him when he had pulled Elena's cold, lifeless body out of river, the one that had made him nearly kill Tyler Smallwood and his friends, draining them dry. 

He was not as dangerous this time, perhaps, as he had been as a vampire, but then, as now, he knew his nemesis, and he advanced on the limping redhead who had driven the stake through Elena's heart. 

"Stefan, don't be an idiot," Jerrick said flatly, not retreating an inch. 

Stefan felt his arm grabbed. For a blind moment, he thought it was Damon who held him and past and present merged dizzyingly. 

Then the adamant coolness of the other's manner penetrated his rage-drunk senses. It was Makoe. The vampire was as inscrutable as ever, but there was tension in his grip and wariness in the cool, dark eyes. 

"You can't kill him, Salvatore," the dark vampire said. 

Stefan stared, betrayal stinging even amid the towering fury he used to hold back the grief that threatened to drive him mad. "And why not, Makoe? He deserves it!" 

"I'm sure, but there is nothing you can do to him." The vampire was looking at Jerrick now and the set of his jaw was tight. "I mean that literally, Stefan. He's-" 

A burst of laughter interrupted him and all heads turned to the Old One. He still appeared as a jade-eyed, gold skinned man with long black hair, but his robes were now scarlet... like blood. His eyes were gleaming, fixed on Jerrick. "You mean to tell me that all along, they did now know-" he broke off with another bark of laughter and his eyes swung to Makoe. 

"And you. You wanted to know if I was an Old One, when all along..." The look sharpened, then another razor-edged smile formed on the vixen-like face. "You took him for one of your teachers and priests of old. Oh, the irony of it all," he finished, mockingly. 

Stefan's gaze darted from one man to another. There was something significant going on and he was the only one blind to it, but he wasn't sure how much he cared. 

If Elena did not return, he would only care for revenge, and then... 

Makoe had released his arm but he did not respond to the Old One's barb. Instead, he was looking at Jerrick again. The redhead, in turn, was watching the sixth, who was still appearing sardonically amused. 

There was a tensed, silent interval and then the lame man spoke. "When she returns, you won't resist further?" 

"By all means," the bronze-skinned Old One said, extravagantly magnanimous. "_If_ she returns, the game will be over. She can do with me as she wishes." The Old One crossed his arms and continued to smile faintly, looking confident of the outcome. 

A _game_? Stefan felt the breath go out of him. All this - Eiran's death, Elena's sacrifice - was all a game to him? A small part of Stefan's mind recognized that it was precisely how insignificant this seemed to a being who had lived millennia, who was utterly inhuman, but that remote little voice went largely unnoticed. 

Stefan was torn; he did not know how to feel, which was almost worse than knowing for certain that Elena was dead. At least then, he knew what to do. Now, he had to wait, and wait with no expectations, for as painful as it was to give up hope, it was more dangerous to harbor hope. 

_How long?_ he wondered. _How long before we know for certain?_

"Then savor your last minutes," Jerrick said suddenly with a certain grim satisfaction. Stefan glanced at him sharply and saw the wild light in his eyes. 

The redhead glanced meaningfully at where Elena lay. 

Elena, whose form was now taking on a luminosity. 

Stefan stared, not quite daring to believe his eyes. But it was no trick; the longer he looked, the more apparent the glow became, a white sheen covering her, just like the time she had faced Jerrick after the vampires had been released from their underground prison. 

Stefan felt hope well up and clog his throat. His breath came with difficulty for all that his heart pounded like a wild thing and his vision blurred with tears of sheer joy and relief. 

As they watched, she levitated, still limp and unconscious. Her feet touched the floor and she stood motionless, like a sleeper, with her eyes shut and head slightly thrown back. The light reflected off her pale hair, turning it to bright silver-gold, and illuminating clearly the smooth but bloodstained skin beneath the rent in the sweater where there had been torn flesh before. The force that whipped her hair around was no wind, but the flow of pure Power. 

The white glow grew, and grew, but Stefan never took his eyes off the darker silhouette within the cocoon of light. Even as a human, Stefan could feel the pulse of Power it emitted. There was a pulse, like a marshalling of force, and then Power exploded rippled outwards. The windows burst open and the room was flooded with light. In the aftermath, the light all but disappeared, making sight bearable again. 

Stefan gulped, gasped, remembered to start breathing again. He felt a touch of fear at the show of raw, wild Power. Elena... 

He wanted to hold her, to reassure himself that she was indeed alive and healed, but something held him back. It was that display of inhuman Powers, and the sense of feyness about her that kept him in place; this was not his Elena, the American teenager he was betrothed to. This was Nature's tool. 

The sound of slow, burlesque clapping broke the spell. "Bravo. Well,... Jerrick. It would seem that your 'bane' is more than I can hold." The immortal was watching the blonde girl with an expression of bemusement ... and resignation. And Jerrick ... 

Jerrick was staring at the shining sight as if he saw his salvation. His eyes were bright and fierce with joy. Yes, joy. Stefan was surprised that he used that word for the normally blasé redhead, but it was the only word that fit. 

The Old One's thin, sculpted lips twisted wryly. "I concede defeat, well and truly bested." He flashed a feral grin all around and there was little humor in the expression. "But you must admit, it was a grand game." 

"Yes, it was," Jerrick said blandly. A snap in the inflection made the simple phrase a scathing reprimand, although his voice was hushed and his eyes were still fixed on Elena. 

Elena opened her eyes. Her expression was remote, dispassionate and Stefan watched as she fixed the raven-haired Old One in an implacable look. 

"Shiva." 

A single word, but the flat finality in it hit like a slap. The word, the Name, echoed and reechoed with pent up force, commanding, compelling. 

"_Eth'ey thah'rn._" [[Death summons you]] 

"_Naii menir._" [[I answer.]] The Old One inclined forward in a half bow. His voice deepened as he uttered the lyric words. The tone of formality and finality gave Stefan an idea of what might have been said. 

She didn't move forward to touch him, as she had Klaus. She merely stretched out her hand. Light arched from her fingers and enveloped him where he stood, gazing at her, fearless and ironic. 

Shiva, the sixth Old One. stood there, looking so proud, so composed, with a faint smirk on his face, as the light spilled over him in an almost opaque wave. Just before he was completely obscured from view, he lifted a hand and touched fingers to forehead in a salute to Jerrick. The glare grew, throwing shadows across the room. Abruptly, it contracted into a thin line and disappeared. 

And he was gone. 

Stefan could only stand there, blinking, for a split second when peace roared back in to fill the void left by the chaos and tumult of the last few minutes. A slight movement made his eyes dart to one side and he moved without thought, catching Elena just before she hit the floor. 

She struggled weakly to rise and he held her up. As soon as she found her balance on her own feet, she pushed away from him. The stumbling steps she took towards the door were alarming to watch. She reached the threshold and caught the lintel with one hand and went to her knees. Only the other hand, braced against the floor, saved her from falling facedown. 

Stefan was bewildered, until Jerrick hissed, "Get her to the vampires!" 

The vampires. Of course. 

In all the excitement, he had forgotten that Elena would have to release the Power of the Old One into Turning. Reminded, he needed no further urging to scoop Elena up in his arms and carry her down the stairs and out of the building, across the training area and through the woods to where the hunters were guarding the vampires. 

Elena barely had the presence of mind to cling to his shoulders and her eyes had that frightening faraway look in them. 

His legs, arms and chest were burning. One of the hunters on guard yelled as he ran past them. Stefan did not spare the breath to reply and nearly tripped to a halt when he felt Elena's nails dig into his flesh. 

He set her on her feet, keeping steadying hands on her shoulders. She stood, facing the cabins where vampires were emerging at various speeds, with expressions ranging from suspicious to confusion to jubilance. 

"Taura, get them all out here!" Stefan got out, spotting the diminutive huntress. He gulped a deep breath and raised his voice. "Vampires, now is the time you've been waiting for. If you wish to be human again, come forth." 

His words kicked up the pitch of activity among them. Some ran forward while the buzz of rapid conversation among others filled the air. 

Elena struck the first at eight feet. The young girl stopped dead, then fell on the ground without warning. That caused all the other vampires to pause and stare. They had been briefed as to what to expect, but seeing one of their number go down suddenly must have been unnerving, nonetheless. 

"She will wake human. Who else wishes the same?" The voice was Elena's but there was little humanity in the inflection. 

Another brief moment of hesitation, then a bearded man took a step forward. Elena swung her head towards him and waited until he came closer. Others joined him in advancing. When they reached the fallen girl, one by one, they fell. 

A commotion broke out just beyond the cabins ring of cabins. Stefan saw the hunters restraining a couple of enraged vampires. He watched long enough to see the pair deposited among the rest of their kind, looking sullen, then his attention went back to Elena. 

He expected to feel his hands tingle where they held her shoulders, but all he felt was flesh beneath the sweater, faintly warm, human. 

There were a handful of vampires who did not come forward, hanging back near the cabins, watching narrow-eyed. 

Elena lifted her head slightly to address them over the unconscious forms of the newly Turned spread on the ground between them. "This is your last chance. After this, there will be no more Turning," she told them. 

Stefan looked at her sharply at this announcement. No more Turning? What about the last Old One? 

One or two of the vampires moved hesitantly forward and soon joined the pool of senseless bodies. It was only then that Stefan felt the fine hair stir on the back of his hand, as if from static electricity, and felt tension leave Elena. 

She slumped against him, boneless in exhaustion. "Call... call Miriam to take it from here," she murmured. Gone was the strong, dispassionate voice; her words were barely audible now. "The vampires - no harming them. Let them go. It's over." And then she fell silent and just leaned on him, borrowing his strength. 

He gathered her up again and noticed the ugly, bloodstained hole in her middle this time. Pausing long enough to relay Elena's instructions to Karen, he carried his fiancée out of the enclosure and struck out across the woods instead of looking for the path to their cabin. 

They were perhaps halfway there when Elena roused and looked at him. Stefan's steps had been slowing in the last few minutes, as adrenaline left him and fatigue set in. 

"Put me down." 

"You can't walk," Stefan said, stubborn but gentle. He doggedly continuous placing one foot before the other, not meeting her eyes, ignoring the burn in his arms and legs. 

"Stefan..." 

He only shook his head. 

"All right, then, at least let's rest here a while," she countered with a bit more of her customary force of will. 

He plodded along another two steps, then stopped beside the nearest tree. He eased her onto a bough of more or less the right height so that she was sitting with arms looped around his shoulders, head nestled below his chin. 

They stood in silence for a while. 

"I thought I'd lost you again." The bleak words spilled out without any conscious thought. He tipped his chin down to rest his lips on the crown of her head, and shut his eyes, savoring the feel of her, alive and warm in his arms. He uttered a silent, fervent prayer of thanks. 

Her arms tightened. "No." A faint shudder ran through her and he soothed it away, hands gliding down her back. "Never again. It's over." 

That phrase again. "But... isn't there another-" he began, confused. 

"Elena!" Stefan looked up. He could barely able to recognize the voice, fraught with sheer need as to raise gooseflesh on his skin. 

Jerrick limped into view, something fierce burning in his eyes. 

The blonde girl did not move, did not look up, continuing to press her forehead to Stefan's chest. "No, Jerrick," she murmured, sounding drained. "Not today." 

The redhead looked ready to object, opened his mouth to deliver a scathing comment, born of thwarted desire, but it died unuttered. His lips sealed, pressed together and his pale blue eyes bore into the blonde in Stefan's arms. 

The ex-vampire felt the first stirs of understanding as Jerrick spoke. "Very well, Elena. But tomorrow, we shall finish this, you and I."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! 


	59. Chapter Fifty Eight: A Worthy Hunt

**Summary**: There was a price to pay for Elena coming back. To win a life with Stefan and her own humanity back, she must fulfill her promise to destroy the Old Ones.

**Disclaimers**: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.

**Date posted:** 23 September 2005 (I can't believe the last update was 13 June 2004!)

Before anything, many thanks to those who took time to drop me a note!

**Inugirlteen: **Hehehe, yeah, I'll bet it took forever to read – it took forever to –write-! Thank you for your kind encouragement! big grin I may be doing another one-shot for VD after this yarn's been wound up. After that,... we'll see.

**winry-16:** Dear winry, I'm really sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I hope for your sake that you haven't actually been checking for my update everyday as you said. chagrin Well, this chapter is late but it's here. I hope it goes some small way towards atoning for my tardiness. Thanks for reading!

**Kichiko**: Thank you! I really like Shiva – he's interesting. :o) And thanks for staying with me. Fear not! The end is near!

* * *

(See bottom of page for Author's Note)

Fifty Eight

_(14 October 2003)_

The sun was sliding below the line of trees as, in ones and twos, the mourners came forward to pay their last respects, tossing a blossom onto the casket before turning to leave.

Elena remained still. The head she had kept so resolutely high during the simple burial ceremony now bent towards the hole in the ground. Stefan was a solid, steadying presence beside her.

She found herself silently speaking to the sleeper they had just lowered into the earth.

:_Eiran_.:

She paused. What does she say to someone who has given his life to protect hers? One who had loved her beyond all hope, giving everything, asking nothing in return?

No one had known what transpired in the few minutes between Eiran's wakening and Stefan's arrival.

Elena, refusing to let any shadow of doubt fall on Eiran's name, had persuaded the witches perform the difficult task of coaxing a ghostly replay from the – as she understood it – psychic resonance left by that final confrontation.

What they had witnessed had washed Eiran's memory whiter than snow. And brought Elena unavoidably to the knowledge that he had loved her. More, apparently, than his own life.

In the moment of realization, the cold lump of grief in her throat and her stomach had crystallized into something else: something with spikes that cut her from inside. She had swayed, would have collapsed, if Stefan had not caught her.

Stefan, who had once said that Eiran was devoted to her.

:_Eiran,_: she tried again, hating the awkwardness of even this final goodbye. :_I can never thank you enough – for everything._: Let the depth of feeling in the simple words suffice, she prayed. :_I will always remember you. Rest in peace, faithful friend._:

With the loss of the sun, the air grew chill. Elena caught herself unconsciously hunching her shoulders against the cold. Stefan touched her elbow and she turned to go, dimly realizing that he must feel the cold, too, now.

The breeze that evening seemed cooler, danker, than in the days before. Elena, wrapped in a shroud of melancholy as black as her clothes, felt that it rather suited the occasion. It ought to be raining, she thought, as if Nature wept along with the Turned and the witches who mourned this passing, and that of the entire team that had been lost in New York.

Looking up, she was caught and held by intense eyes, burning like pale blue flames. A shiver crawled up her spine that had nothing to do with the falling temperature. There was hunger in those eyes that bordered on madness.

Jerrick stared unabashedly at her until the lanky vampire who was talking to him snapped a hand at his shoulder belligerently. The red-haired man's lids fell, shielding the intensity of his gaze, as he gave Tristan the attention he was apparently demanding.

Stefan's urging hand on her back brought them both within earshot of the pair. Elena saw Samar making a beeline at the sight of her volatile brother apparently trying to pick a fight with Jerrick. Leon wasn't far behind her, with Makoe trailing after them. There was, Elena thought, something less cool, more guarded, in Makoe's expression.

She had no time to wonder about it; Tristan's strident tones broke her absent train of thought.

"—last one, right? We'd better not be left out of this one, _witch_. You promised us that we'd hunt the Old Ones and you had damn well better pay up, or—"

"I get the message," Jerrick cut in flatly. His mildness, his unprepossessing geniality, had vanished in the last day. Again, his eyes met and locked with Elena's.

"And?" Tristan prompted brusquely.

"And," Jerrick paused, let out a breath, almost a sigh. Ignoring Elena's slowly shaking head, he went on. "I wouldn't dream of giving you anything less than what I have promised."

* * *

The scene at the main lodge the next morning was one of brisk activity. Spurred by suspicion and alarm, Elena's steps picked up speed as she neared the building.

She spotted Miriam's curly red head and made her way to the Turned's side. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Elena!" The girl, only noticing her presence when she spoke, grabbed her arm. "Everything seems to be happening so fast, suddenly!"

"What's happened?" the blonde asked, eyeing one of the more recently changed vampire as he strode past bearing a duffel bag. "Why does it look like people are leaving?"

"Jerrick said we should." When Elena rounded on her, she went on hastily. "He's left to get the last Old One. He's taken some of the witches with him, and Maddy. He said you and the vampires should meet him this evening. He's left directions in his room. And he told everyone that they could leave as soon as they wished – in fact, the way he said it implied that we _should_."

Her gaze went a bit out of focus. "I guess I never thought about what would happen to everyone in the future, once the Old Ones were all gone," she murmured, more to herself than to Elena. "I've been with the Turned for more than a year now..."

Elena barely heard that; her mind was busy trying to figure out what Jerrick was up to this time. She took Miriam's hand from her arm, gave it a pat and went to Jerrick's room.

A cream-colored sheet of paper lay on the bed. The message was simple:

_Maple Spring Park, 5 o'clock this evening. Be ready to hunt. _

* * *

"I'm going!"

Samar stood with her hands on her hips and chin thrust out as if daring anyone to say otherwise.

Leon sat on the couch and wisely kept silent, fingering Jerrick's note. Makoe ignored the outburst and went on checking his own equipment. Tristan lowered the gun he was cleaning to glare at his sister.

Stefan, watching from where he and Elena shared the loveseat, nearly winced.

"Like hell," Tristan barked, and went back to his gun, signaling that, as far as he was concerned, the discussion was over.

"I am," the petite girl insisted, taking a couple of steps towards him. "I have every right to go. You can't argue that this is too dangerous because you're hunting an Old One who could kill you with a thought, so it's no more dangerous to you than to me. In fact, considering that this is going to be in a park, it's probably _more_ dangerous for you than for me."

"Bullshit," Tristan said heatedly. Samar's eyes flared in outrage at his language. "Even if we're fighting in the woods, we're still better off. If you were a vampire, I may consider it, but since you've chosen the life of a human, you'd better get used to staying home and living your quiet, safe life, _sis_."

"You—." Samar's breath hissed at the end of that. "Is this what it's all about? Punishment for my not choosing to be changed back?" She crossed her arms and scowled at her brother.

Tristan did not bother answering that. He picked up a barrel bushing and made a show of cleaning it.

"For your information," she said, with a lofty toss of her head, "I _intend _to be changed back to a vampire – after a few years. I don't want to stay eighteen forever, thank you very much," she said tartly.

Tristan's hand stilled; it took him a moment to rally his argument. "You're still a human now, so you can't come with us this time. The answer is still no."

Samar lost her haughtiness in a blink. "Come on, Tristan, even if I let you change me now, I'd be comatose for another day; I can't possibly go on this hunt as a vampire."

"That's right. You're staying home."

Samar let out a sound of excruciating frustration. "There's no talking sense to you, so I won't waste my time trying anymore. I'm going to get ready instead." And with that final pronouncement, she left the living room, shutting her room door with a firm thud.

Silence fell. Oddly enough, this drew Elena's attention back to her surroundings and she looked up. She had been doodling in a notepad, and Stefan could tell that she was tensed and unhappy about this turn of events. She looked about now, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Finally, Leon said, in his quiet way, "She _is_ coming, you know?"

Tristan whirled but before he could speak, Leon went on, "You think you can keep her away?"

"How's she going to go if she's tied up, gagged, knocked unconscious and then locked inside her bathroom?" Tristan demanded belligerently, leaving no doubt that he would do just that.

"You never know," the phlegmatic vampire said.

Tristan scowled. "I thought you, of all people, would be worried about this, Morris?" he said, accusingly.

"I'm worried," Leon said flatly. "But if you try to keep her away, she'll only do something reckless and more dangerous. At least if she comes with us, we can keep an eye on her."

Tristan looked resistant.

Makoe spoke without looking away from his gun. "If you think you can get her tied up, then go ahead and try."

There was no inflection shading his voice, but Tristan bared his fangs at the implied taunt and went after Samar.

A commotion started inside the room, punctuated with thumps of items hitting the wall, shrieks from Samar and the sound of breaking things. Elena glanced up at Stefan, alarmed, but her fiancée only squeezed her hand and tried not to smile. Makoe ignored the noise and Leon made a show of nonchalance.

The door to Samar's room flew open with a bang. Tristan was forcefully ejected, the wall on the opposite side of the corridor stopping his brief flight. The lanky vampire shook himself, then ducked just in time before a large hardbound book struck the wall where his head had been.

The door slammed shut.

Stefan was careful not to look at the vampire as he stood there, enraged. A long, strained moment passed, then Tristan retrieved his guns and stormed off into his room.

Stefan caught Leon chuckling softly to himself. When their eyes met, the laid back vampire only shook his head, refraining from comment.

* * *

Jerrick met them at the parking lot, seated calmly on the hood of a familiar-looking car. It belonged to one of the witches.

The purr of the Lotus's engine had barely died before Tristan was standing beside the car, quivering like a greyhound eager for the hunt.

Samar got out of Leon's car more slowly, checking her knives one last time. The phlegmatic vampire rounded the car and stood beside her, both of them watching the witch wordlessly.

The red-haired man waited until all had assembled before speaking, not stirring from his perch. After a beat of silence, he lifted a hand and pointed a thumb to the wooded area not ten feet behind him.

"My word fulfilled. The witches have spent considerable effort in raising wards around this ten-acre area strong enough to contain that which you seek. I will warn that this hunt is dangerous – I do not guarantee your safety, if you choose to go on with this. If you decide to forego this folly—"

"Enough babble, witch," Tristan cut him off sharply. "He's alone?"

"Save for the native wildlife of this park, I would say so," Jerrick replied coolly.

"And he can't get out?" Tristan waited for Jerrick to nod.

"How will we recognize the edge of the wards?" Leon asked.

The redhead's lips curled in a mirthless smile. "You won't be able to cross the wards either, once you go in."

So they would be trapped too, Samar thought, unease curling up her spine.

"The purpose of this is to hunt – for the sake of the hunt alone. We won't be able to kill an Old One," Makoe said flatly. "When will she intervene?" A tip of his chin indicated Elena.

"I can monitor you. If you all fail and are killed, or once any of you call for it to end, Elena will step in and the unmaking will commence." Ice blue eyes caught Samar's gaze and stabbed with sudden intensity. "It only takes one of you to call for an end, and it will be done." The eyes moved, abruptly breaking the contact to lock with Leon, the emphasis heavy. Samar saw the vampire give the barest of nods.

Tristan was blatantly impatient to be off. Leon gazed at each member of the hunt, that habitual thoughtful look on him. "So, who's in and who's out?" he asked, unexpectedly giving everyone a last chance to back out.

He looked at Stefan first. The ex-vampire exchanged a glance with Elena.

Jerrick spoke up. "Elena, will, of course, stay with me."

The blonde girl's look at this pronouncement made Samar scoff at that 'of course', but Elena did not protest. She and Stefan bent their heads together in quiet conference.

Samar saw their joined hands squeeze before Stefan released her fingers and stepped forward.

Leon nodded again in acknowledgement. He knew better than to ask Makoe and Tristan, so he looked at her with one eyebrow slightly raised.

Her dagger look made his lips twitch. "All right, then," he said. "Let's go."

The five of them began to walk to the trees in silence. Samar couldn't tell when they passed the ward, except that Tristan looked up sharply with suspicion.

Following Stefan's glance backwards, Samar saw Elena facing Jerrick with her arms crossed. She faced forward, focusing on this hunt. She took her cues from the vampires, grasping one of her knifes and casting her eyes about alertly.

They walked, neither briskly nor in a predatory slink. The air was still under the trees, and the heavy leaves filtered sunlight to a soft dappled pattern on the ground.

"Don't we need a strategy? Some kind of plan?" Samar asked, her voice pitched slightly below normal speaking volume.

"An Old One cannot die, will survive any sort of injury or dismemberment." Leon sounded like he was reciting a lesson.

"We're here to match wits and skill with him and see just how good he is," Tristan put in.

Before Samar could ask, 'what wits?', Makoe added with cold satisfaction, "There will never be another foe like this. This is the challenge of a lifetime."

None of which answered her question, really. "So we just walk around until we find him?" she asked, her voice rising. "What if he keeps hiding?"

"Hush," Leon cautioned.

"Why? We _want_ him to find us," she retorted rebelliously.

They did not answer her, but continued on in silence. The vampires had shifted into stalking mode. Leon did not seem to notice her sharp look; his gaze roved through the trees, as tensed and alert as Makoe or Tristan. Stefan kept pace, but he was more subdued, less in his element compared to the others.

Samar scowled. Is this how they hunted? If so, it was a miracle they ever accomplished anything. No one seemed to be thinking things through. Well, if they were too idiotically male to do so, she supposed it fell to her to use her brain rather than brawn.

Would the Old One fight or elude them? she wondered.

He could not get through the wards; when he realized this, he would surely attack the lesser beings hunting him, convinced that they were his captors—

Or would they seem like the live chickens thrown into the snake's enclosure for its dinner? Samar shrugged off the unease that thought raised.

Whichever train of thought he pursued, he would attack them. He would certainly not run away from them. So how much time did they have before the onslaught? Should they set up an ambush, and then bait the Old One into the trap? Could they?

What exactly did they plan to do? They had already established that they couldn't kill the Old One. Could they settle for knocking him out? Cutting him into so many separate pieces that he would at least be incapacitated for a while?

Drinking his blood?

Samar swallowed reflexively at that possibility, horror laced with a tiny bit of a thrill. What would happen to someone who drank the blood of an Old One? Would it give Power to equal the Old One? It can't be as simple as that... could it?

Overhead, wood tore, then splintered and crashed through the interlacing branches. Samar's attention jerked up, and she heard a shout. She was suddenly staring at a bough as long as she was tall, lying two inches from her toes. She didn't remember moving, but she could have sworn that the branch lay right where she had been standing.

Wood chips continued to rain down around them, like dust.

Leon stepped around the branch and touched her arm. She could feel her eyes straining as wide as they would go as she looked at him. He had lost all trace of sleepiness and his lips, which moved but did not produce any sound, were bloodless.

Samar gulped, then drew a breath and nodded to Stefan's concerned question.

Makoe was kneeling beside the larger end of the branch, which was as thick as the length of her forearm. He looked up and pronounced, "Rotted through."

So it wasn't an attack, after all? she wondered. Deep down, she didn't believe that, but she jerked her chin in acceptance of his explanation. She glared at Tristan, daring him to say anything about how she should have stayed home. He didn't seem to notice that a flying splinter had sliced a thin red line across his forehead. After a long moment matching stares with her, he turned to follow Makoe.

Leon stayed beside her after that. Stefan moved up to bridge the gap between them and the two hunters in the lead.

Samar groped for her interrupted train of thought.

It all came back down to planning, something the hunters seemed to have no inclination to do. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth in frustration. She stared daggers at the backs of the two vampires in front.

They seemed oblivious.

* * *

Leon walked on with fragmented attention.

He cast his mind cautiously about, seeking any hint of prey in front, or being stalked from behind. He kept a mental 'ear' open to the other two vampires, while his physical ears strained for any sound of assault.

Like the last one.

Leon didn't think the falling branch had been a simple act of nature, anymore than he knew Samar did.

Samar.

His undead heart had nearly jumped up his throat and out his mouth, and still pounded at the memory of the sight: Samar, staring down at a branch that would surely have killed her if she hadn't moved in that precious split second before it crashed to the ground.

He made the rueful private admission that having her along for this hunt was cramping his style. But then, that could hardly be helped. His ladylove wished to be included and nothing he could do could dissuade her. Trying to protect her as her brother did would only draw her resentment. The fact that her presence restricted his freedom was hardly a valid reason for him to insist she stay away.

They had been walking for perhaps a half hour; sunlight was slanting through the leaves, red-gold and fading. Leon sent Makoe a quizzing thought.

:_Nothing._: A pause. :_But then, we should know better than to expect to find an Old One who is masking his presence._:

:_We can't keep on like this,_: Leon pointed out logically.

:_Have you a better suggestion?_: was the cold retort.

Leon had to admit nothing came to mind. They could only hope to counter attack once the Old One showed himself and outnumber him.

He wondered what this Old One's particular Power was. Stefan had related that last Old One's knack for shape-shifting.

A sudden rustling made them all spin about, blades and guns flashing into their hands. Leon caught a glimpse of a black-and-white tail disappearing under a bush and relaxed with a wheezed laugh.

"Well, Jerrick mentioned the wildlife."

"That skunk would have been a fearsome foe indeed," Stefan added with a touch of humor.

Samar hissed in a release of tension. They went on, hands flexing on their weapons.

Makoe was the first to freeze, his action cueing the rest. Following his gaze, Leon saw the silhouette of a man, curiously shrouded in shadow, although the forest floor was bright at his feet.

:_Oh yes,_: Tristan sneered, in anticipation of action at last. He took a spread-legged stance, lifting his gun and taking aim.

Darting a look at Makoe out of his peripheral vision, Leon caught the calculating look in the dark vampire's face.

All was still as they spotted each other, the hunters and the hunted.

There was a noise like a heavy wood on wood then the sound spiraled down the spectrum. It died away with a loud snuffling, like that of a horse. On the right, another shadow moved through the forest. From the rustling of leaves, Leon judged it to be fairly large, ponderous. The sound came again, but this time, seemed more like a wounded animal moaning.

:_Nice try, but I won't be distracted,_: Tristan told the Old One. His gun never wavered; he squeezed the trigger.

The shadow suddenly reared up and roared. White teeth and claws flashed in the semi-darkness. The black bear lumbered forward, and ploughed right into Tristan, bearing him along as he passed. The vampire vanished beneath the 300-pound mass.

Samar screamed and threw a small knife. It bounced off the thick winter coat and the creature did not even lift its head.

A shot sounded, shockingly loud. Leon heard, but barely registered, the sound of wings as nearby birds were startled into flight.

The bear let out another enraged roar. It lifted one powerful claw for a downward swipe. Makoe shot again, aiming at the raised claw and sending a bullet through the soft, velvety pad there. The bear reared up to its full 7-foot height. It abandoned Tristan in favor of attacking this new tormentor.

With speed terrifying in a creature so large, it charged right at Makoe, teeth ready to tear. The vampire stood there and calmly planted a bullet in its forehead. The bear dropped suddenly and lay unmoving.

Tristan had sat up and was doubled over, gasping. Stefan approached him as cautiously as if he were a wild animal himself. There was blood on his torn collar, the deep scars where the bear had mauled him already starting to heal slowly. Samar, white-faced, stalked over to retrieve her knife then wordlessly held a hand out to her brother.

Tristan let himself be helped to his feet with ill grace. He winced as he put pressure on his right leg but that didn't stop him from immediately turning to where the Old One had stood.

Unsurprisingly, they were alone again.

Makoe was standing where he had felled the bear, his back to the kill. Leon joined him without bothering to ask what had caught his interest. In explanation, the dark vampire picked up a pebble and tossed it four feet away. Then he hammered his fist hard – and met an invisible barrier not six inches in front of his face.

Leon's mouth quirked, impressed, as he also felt the barrier. As solid as it was invisible. With a shrug, he turned and rejoined the siblings and Stefan.

"Now where to?" Samar asked. "Follow him?" She pointed to the Old One's last known location with her chin.

"Yes," Makoe said shortly, coming up to them. He didn't stop, striding straight in that direction. Dusk was falling, the forest darkening around them.

Glancing back, Leon's steps faltered. :_Uh… guys…?_:

The vampires stopped, cueing the non-vamps to do the same. All turned to look.

The bear was gone.

Makoe went back to investigate. The dark vampire bent on one knee, examining the ground. His fingers were stark, trailing on the grass. He rose and rejoined them, face as inscrutable as ever. "No blood trails. No tracks. Nothing," the vampire reported.

"What does that mean?" Tristan demanded.

"It was an illusion. To distract us," Stefan said quietly.

And an incredibly good one, Leon added, eyeing Tristan's wounds. The volatile vampire still limped slightly, favouring his right leg.

Makoe shrugged, stepping back to his place at the head of the hunt. "We are hunting a supernatural being. Did you expect the normal rules to apply?" he asked.

There was no reply, not that he was waiting for one. They resumed their walk, but had not gone much further before Makoe stopped, head coming up and to his right. :_This way._:

And then he was off, running full pelt. Leon deliberately matched his steps to Samar's. Stefan was ahead of them, with Tristan struggling with an awkward galloping gait to keep up with Makoe.

They crashed through underbrush, snapping branches and kicking up leaves in their frenzy. As suddenly as the chase began, it ended. Leon's gasp was not from exertion as he gazed at the tree before them. The trunk was at least five feet in diameter and it stood alone, seeming to have strangled out life around its base.

On a carpet of flame bright autumn leaves stood a shadowed figure.

The safety of a gun slid off with a precise click. Legs spread, Tristan had taken aim.

:_Foolish mortal. What do you hope to accomplish with that toy?_:

That mental voice, whispering, so disdainful and calm, reminded Leon curiously of Nigel Emery, the Old One who had led them against Crystal Baron. Not that the former vampire warlord had ever sounded so dispassionate; it was the strength and clarity of the telepathy that woke the memory.

Without warning, the gun exploded in Tristan's hands, metal shards and splinters from the wood-tipped bullet embedding themselves in his hands. The scream was truncated, trapped behind his clenched jaw and bared teeth. In slow motion, despite his resistance, the vampire dropped to his knees.

:_You brought me here. What can you hope to accomplish?_:

Samar dashed to her brother's side, hissing furiously. She didn't seem to notice the Old One's telepathy, but surely, she must hear it.

Tristan turned away from her, nursing his hand.

Samar started to smack him, but changed her mind and with frightening recklessness, threw her knife at the lone figure beneath the tree. The blade caught a ray of light as it flew end over end towards its target. It stopped dead, suspended in mid air, blade pointing unerringly back the way it had come, then shot towards the ex-vampire girl.

Leon was halfway to her, heart in his mouth again, when the shot rang out.

The knife fell to the ground, the bullet in its hilt.

Makoe lowered his gun, staring at the Old One.

:_We wish a worthy opponent._:

The immortal seemed to consider this as Samar stalked forward and bent to retrieve her knife. Leon sidled over to her, an eye on the Old One. He touched her elbow and felt her tremble in delayed shock. He was fairly sure he was ashen, himself.

:_Think you to use me as sport?_: The voice no longer whispered but warned with repressed force.

:_This will be your last hunt, immortal. You will die once we—_:

:_Die?_:

Leon thought that the Old One meant to mock Makoe's claim about him dying but he soon realized his mistake.

:_If your dying is what will free me, perhaps I might hasten that event._:

He made no move, but the ground gave a faint shudder and then roots were springing up like deadly spikes.

Leon grabbed Samar's arm, yanking her towards him. "Run!" he breathed, dragging her back.

:_I believe you need a reminder of your inadequacies, vampire_: the Old One continued.

:_Run!_: Leon repeated so that the other three heard him.

More spikes appeared, thrusting out of the ground all around them, until it was difficult to move. Leon heard a scream and Samar jerked back instinctively, yelling for Tristan.

:_Get her out of here!_: Makoe's mindvoice cracked in his head.

Leon sent wordless acknowledgement, tightening his grip on her, refusing to let her turn back. Adrenaline ran through his blood, hiking his senses to hyper awareness. Even so, the chaos around him was hard to take in. It felt like on every inch of ground he stepped, a spike drove up, threatening to impale his foot, or a rock appeared, nearly robbing him of his balance.

There came a rain of needles, sharp as any arrow, hundreds of little deaths. Leon felt a burn in his shoulder and lifted his free hand to protect his head.

"Tristan!" Samar screamed frantically over the rumble of roots and earth shifting underfoot and branches breaking overhead. She squirmed, trying to break his hold.

:_Samar, you can't help him._:

She ignored him, nearly hysterical.

He broke his cover, scooping her up and fighting his way out of the Old One's lethal maze. Her struggles threatened to pull him down more than once and the attack from above had not ceased. Leon grimly ignored the fire on his back and his ear where needles had dug into him. If he fell even _once_...

He fought to make his way through the spikes, his mind numbing in an automatic defense mechanism against the pain and horror.

He did not register at first, when he finally he trod on green grass and dried leaves instead of spiked death. His steps slowed as his mind caught up with him and he lowered the shell-shocked girl in his arms to the ground.

He turned, as if to go back, but abruptly found himself prostrate on the ground.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello again, dear readers! I know I've been promising this chapter for a long time. The good news: it's here. The bad news: As you can tell, this is not the end of the story yet. The rest of the good news: There's just one more chapter to go and it's 90 completed.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feedback would be hailed with delight and cherished for a long long time! Quite possibly forever.

The next (final) installment should be up sometime in the coming week.


	60. Chapter Sixty: The Final Trial

**Summary:** There was a price to pay for Elena coming back. To win a life with Stefan and her own humanity back, she must fulfill her promise to destroy the Old Ones. 

**Disclaimers:** Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any othe r names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.

**Date posted:** 1 October 2005 (On Time!)

(See bottom of page for author's notes)

* * *

Fifty Nine 

_(14 October 1993)_

Silence crashed around him.

Stefan lay still, waiting to see if bedlam would resume. After a few moments, he stood up, gingerly, afraid to disturb the sudden peace.

There was no sign of the Old One.

Dusk had settled, the flaming colors of the forest washing out to hues of grey.

Thought of how the others fared closed his throat. :_He can't have killed them all!_:

Shrugging off cold fear at that possibility, he started forward and winced. Human or vampire, the bombardment of needles still hurt. Jaw set, he yanked out the five wood shards in his shoulder and arm, grateful that that was the extent of the damage he sustained.

Even though he was no longer a vampire, five-hundred-year-old instincts die hard, and goosebumps formed as he stared at a sharp tip beside him. Resolute, he placed one foot carefully among the spikes, and then another, wrapping his fingers around one balance. He made his way forward painstakingly, looking for signs of the vampires and Samar. The fading light and the waist-high stakes obscured his line of sight.

His tentative call was answered by a low groan.

Torturously slow, he made his way to the source of the sound, and fought horror at the sight that awaited him.

"Tristan," he acknowledge in hushed tones.

The vampire was pinned, one spike through his left shoulder, another through his right hip. Needles had sliced through his shirt and jeans, lacing lines of angry red across his face. The scratches would normally have closed by now, except that they had been made with wood.

"Some... hunt," Tristan gasped out sourly.

Stefan came closer and knelt beside him. "Not satisfied?" he asked, cautious. It seemed that, even close to death, the vampire held his cagey brashness.

Tristan's face twisted bitterly. "Hadn't even... gotten started."

"Ah..." Stefan searched for something to say. "It's not over yet," he settled on, knowing it was an empty platitude.

Tristan choked and coughed, a line of red running down from his nostril. Only the curve of his lips told Stefan that he had tried to laugh.

Stefan sat down, finding as comfortable a position as he could. He thought of searching for the others, but it seemed wrong to leave Tristan here like that. Breaking the awkward pause, Stefan asked delicately, "Can I help?" He indicated the needles with a stark nod.

The muscle at Tristan's jaw jumped.

Stefan looked away and braced for a scalding reply.

"Yeah."

The ex-vampire darted a furtive glance at him but Tristan had averted his eyes.

He had to shift slightly to better position himself for the task. As quickly as possible, Stefan plucked the splinters out of the vampire's flesh.

Tristan hissed, baring fangs but endured wordlessly until Stefan was done.

Stefan eyed the two spikes impaling the vampire. "Would you-"

"Yeah."

"All right."

Stefan grasped the spike where it protruded from the other's hip. The wood was a slick with blood. Forcing his mind away from that fact, Stefan bent the spike sharply, snapping it off.

Tristan grunted.

Stefan repeated the process with the other spike, eliciting another suppressed sound from the vampire. He didn't ask this time, merely slid his hand under the vampire's back and helped him sit up, the rest of the stake sliding out of his shoulder agonizingly.

Sweat beaded on the vampire's brow and a vein stood out in his forehead.

Maneuvering him away was tricky since they could not move too much around the other spike without causing more damage to the vampire.

Stefan's jaw was clenched so hard that it hurt as he levered the lanky vampire off the second spike.

Finally, Tristan lay on the ground, bleeding, eyes closed and breath harsh, but free from his wooden bonds.

Stefan sat beside him, one hand resting on an upraised knee. Taking away the wood seemed to have helped; the vampire's breathing was easing.

Without opening his eyes, Tristan opened his mouth and murmured, "Thank you."

Stefan glanced at him, wondering if he had heard right. "You're welcome." He lifted the wrist that was on his knee. "Do you think this will help?" he asked, holding out his hand towards the vampire.

Tristan's eyes snapped to the proffered wrist, then to Stefan's face. His lips twisted and he closed his eyes again. "No."

Stefan withdrew his hand.

"You're all right, Salvatore."

The ex-vampire blinked, unsure how to respond. He settled for nodding, although Tristan couldn't see him.

"Let's go look for the others," Tristan said suddenly.

Stefan looked him carefully. "Can you move?"

"Yeah. I need to make sure Morris took care of Samar. And besides, that Old One is still out there. It's not over yet," Tristan threw his words back at him with a snort. Stefan smiled faintly.

Tristan struggled to sit up unassisted. Perhaps wisely, Stefan let him try for a moment before moving in to support him.

Helping the vampire stand was awkward going, having to move around his thorny temper. Finally, they were both on their feet, with the Tristan's right arm around Stefan's shoulders.

They had taken two steps in what they felt was the direction Leon and Samar had been, when a movement off to their left made them stop.

Stefan squinted into the half-dark.

The figure moved closer, close enough for Stefan to make out his face. He opened his mouth to fling an accusation, but his vision tumbled into multicolored oblivion.

* * *

Leon emerged slowly to consciousness with his mouth fastened to a wrist. The situation was novel enough to jolt him back to full awareness. 

He opened his eyes to Samar's frantic, tear-streaked face.

She stared at him.

It took him another moment to realize _whose_ wrist he was sucking on and he let go immediately. "Samar!" he gasped. "Wh-"

"It was all I could think of doing to wake you!" she cried, and collapsed onto his chest, shuddering.

Memory returned even as his hands grasped her shaking shoulders. Horror froze him for a long moment, incapacitating him. He fought it off and urged her to sit up with gentle pressure on her arms. Then, he struggled to rise, wincing as the movement tore open the healing scabs on his back. She helped him but awkwardly, brushing the wounds by accident and making him wince more.

He turned, supporting himself on one hand, to look behind him. It was a futile exercise; nothing of that nightmarish dell could be seen from where he sat.

"The others?" he asked, faintly.

She shook her head, mouth set in a hard line but eyes betraying her anguish.

He shook his head in denial and cast out with his mind. And searched again. And again.

Nothing.

He slumped slightly and Samar, who had been watching him like a hawk, correctly interpreted the sign of defeat and crept close, blindly seeking comfort.

Leon curled an arm around her shoulders. The move pure instinct, unthinking. He was numb.

They had known that they faced a fearsome foe, but had any of them been prepared for it to end like this? No, he thought not.

He didn't know how long they sat there like that, but eventually, as the light of day faded, he shook himself and collected his thoughts.

The Old One was still around. He and Samar were sitting ducks out there. With the others gone, there was no reason to continue this hunt. He had to look to Samar's safety now.

He started to call Jerrick, but was distracted by the sound of someone approaching.

Cued by his sudden stiffening, Samar looked up. She squinted, getting to her feet. "Who's there?" she demanded, voice harsh with tension.

"Stefan." And he came close enough for the vampire to make out his face.

Samar broke into an uncharacteristic shout of joy and ran to him. She grabbed hold of his sweater. "Did you see..." she started to ask breathlessly, trailing off.

"No sign of Makoe, but Tristan..."

Leon held his breath. Tristan had been hurt before the Old One had unleashed the forest on them. Could he have managed to escape, even disadvantaged as he was?

Stefan sighed, making Samar's hands clench harder on his clothes. "He's hurt... but I gave him some blood. He'll be all right."

Samar's hands went limp, resting against Stefan's chest. She bowed her head, but it was in relief, not grief or defeat. Leon heard her mutter, "That idiot." Heard the suppressed emotion behind the reflective insult.

So that left only Makoe unaccounted for. Leon felt his own relief seep in. Of all of them, Makoe was the one he was least worried about. The dark vampire was the strongest member of the hunt.

Samar exhaled loudly. "Okay. So now what do we do?"

"We go on."

Leon's head snapped around, elated.

Makoe joined them in the gathering gloom. He was shirtless, the scars of recent wounds faintly red against his skin.

"The hunt continues."

Leon's happiness ebbed. Go on? After what the Old One had flung at them? Who knew what the immortal would do next?

"Makoe, I don't think-"

The dark vampire lifted his gun and fired. But not at Leon.

Time slowed for the phlegmatic vampire as he turned to look at Samar. No... he wouldn't have... why would he...?

Samar stood stock still, her eyes showing white.

Behind her, Stefan faced Makoe calmly despite the bullet wound in his chest. "Very good."

He _blurred_, becoming shadowy and indistinct. A specter.

:_Samar!_: Leon cried warning, lunging to his feet.

She started to turn, movements jerky with shock.

Too late.

The dark shape threw itself at her, trailing ribbons of blackness, and seemed to sink _into_ her.

The girl's body jerked once as if electrocuted, and her lips parted. Her eyes went wide and vacant.

Leon didn't remember running but he was suddenly in front of Samar, grasping her shoulder and shaking her. "Samar? Samar!"

He reached with his mind but only encountered a barrier like a blank, impenetrable wall. Leon let go, slowly, and stepped back.

The hazel eyes focused on him, then shifted to Makoe. "Come," she said simply and turned.

Leon exchanged a glance with Makoe as the dark vampire drew abreast with him.

:_What do we do? We aren't as Powerful as he is. Our weapons are worse than useless. He's taken over Samar and we don't even know if Tristan and Stefan are alive. How are we going to fight him?_: Leon's telepathy was not placid now. It was laced with bitterness and clawing fear.

:_With our wits,_: Makoe said shortly. :_If that is not too much to ask._:

:_What's the point?_:

The cold grey eyes slid towards him. :_I understand that your priorities have changed of late, Morris,_: he said bitingly. :_If the hunt so unimportant to you, think on this instead: What if unmaking the Old One traps Samar in her current condition?_:

Leon glared at his hunt-brother. He didn't like to think about it, but that was a possibility, one he had not considered in his frenzy to end this ordeal.

They followed Samar - or the specter controlling Samar's body - wordlessly to where the line of trees fell away and they found themselves at the bottom of a grassy knoll.

A figure, tall and shrouded in green from head to toe, stood waiting on the side of the flat expanse. At his feet, two bodies sprawled, graceless and unconscious. Leon recognized Stefan's sweater and then he realized that the other, blood-covered form was Tristan.

Alarm zinged through him.

Dead?

:_Not yet._: There was no mistaking that crisp reply. The Old One turned his face, hidden in a deep, shadowed hood, towards them.

The fine hairs on Leon's neck prickled at having his thought picked up so easily.

Samar walked on to stand beside and slightly behind the immortal. There was no recognition, nor any other reaction, to her brother's broken and bloody body two feet in front of her.

Leon sensed, or perhaps only imagined, the Old One's awareness circling them like a malevolent bird of prey.

:_So, imperfect offspring of my perfect brethren, here we stand, at the end. Now, I will kill you and be free._:

:_Are you so certain that killing us will free you? There may be other hunters waiting to take our place,_: Makoe responded as coolly as ever.

The mindvoice deepened, pressing on their minds as if testing. :_Let us suppose what you say is true. What, then, do you propose, flawed one?_:

:_We will end this, if you will give us one final trial, and you will release your hold on her._: A tilt of the head indicated Samar.

:_You have already shown your capability - or lack thereof._: The mindvoice had sharpened with derision.

Leon felt a mental blow hit him with almost physical force, shoving him back. A second strike danced down his nerves, skimming the borders of pain and robbing him of control over his body.

:_Neither of you have enough ability to even tempt me to play your tiresome little game._:

Leon landed on his back, breath knocked out of him and stealing the hiss of pain from landing on his half-healed wounds. His vision greyed momentarily and he blinked away the odd spots of light that danced before his eyes, a sensation reminiscent of when one has blood rush to one's head. Craning his neck, Leon saw Makoe standing with feet spread and body tensed as if resisting a strong wind.

:_Power is not only measured in strength. And, tiresome though the game may be, we are the only ones who can end it,_: Makoe replied, mindvoice sounding strained.

The attack ceased abruptly. Stillness coiled malevolent around them, like a snake about to strike.

Makoe straightened his shoulders imperceptibly. Leon braced for another attack.

A sudden gust ripped down the knoll, rustling leaves. It tugged at the Old One's robe-

Lifting it completely and tumbling it end over end across the forest floor.

It was empty.

Leon sat up abruptly, watching the robe disappear into the gloom beneath the trees.

:_Perhaps not all of you are bereft of wits._:

Leon jumped. Apparently, the Old One's presence required no physical form. Or perhaps he was the wind...

:_Very well, vampire. One trial of immortal ability, one chance to test yourselves against me, and it will be of my choosing._:

The air seemed electrified. Leon felt a gathering of Power, like the half-sensed roiling of a storm.

:_Let us begin, that we may end,_: the Old One intoned, with almost ritualistic formality.

A feminine cry drew Leon's attention.

"Tristan!" Samar was kneeling beside her brother, frantic hands on his shoulders.

Leon scrambled to his feet and went to her.

"What happened? What's going on?" she asked, twisted her head around to look at him as he crouched beside her. "All I remember is Makoe shooting, and then-" her eyes went to Stefan's still form.

"It was the Old One. Or if not, then, one of his creatures," he explained. His eyes shifted to Tristan, taking in the two gaping wounds in his shoulder and hip, and the myriad finer lines lacing his body.

"He alive!" she said exclaimed with obvious relief, one hand moving to the pulse at his neck to reassure herself of her claim.

"Stefan, too," Leon added, making out the faint rise and fall of the ex-vampire's chest. He curled a comforting hand around Samar's shoulders and looked back at Makoe.

The cold vampire had not moved. Following the line of his gaze, Leon watched the line of trees at the spot where that uncanny wind had tossed the green robe into the woods.

In the shadows, shapes moved, half seen. Many shapes. One by one, they coalesced and emerged from beneath the trees and could be identified. They gathered beneath an oak: red foxes, skunks, coyotes, raccoons, badgers. There were elk, with their quiet step and their regal antlers, and shy deer. Birds alighted on the evergreen boughs overhead: a red-tailed hawk stood out among the smaller avian species. A crow appeared with a raucous cry and settled well away from the hawk. It turned its head to rest one gimlet eye on the vampires and humans. Tiny hummingbirds whizzed past overhead. A bear lumbered into view and stood on its hind legs briefly, sniffing the air. It let out a low growl before settling back on all fours. It, too, gaze unerringly at the vampires.

:_Can you find me among these?_: came the taunt.

Find him? Leon stared, bemused.

Makoe shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms. His expression was as blank as ever, but Leon suspected that he might be displeased. Or maybe disappointed.

Leon suppressed a sigh. Well, the trial was up to the Old One to decide. They could either forgo it and end the hunt all the more quickly. Then again, finding the Old One would not exactly be a piece of cake.

:_We should know better than to expect to find an Old One who is masking his presence._: The cold vampire's comment at the beginning of that hunt echoed ironically in Leon's mind.

Samar, apparently not hearing the Old One, watched the assembled animals with unease.

Leon squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. He felt Makoe's mind sweep forward and added his consciousness to the search. There was a spark, a hint of Power. Leon pursued it but it darted away, like a fish to be hidden among the rest of the school. Tens of minds impinged on him, varying in texture and tone. Lost, the mild vampire shook his head.

:_Is this a trick question?_: Leon asked Makoe. All the creatures seemed to have that touch of _other_ about them.

:_Perhaps._: Not the most reassuring answer.

:_You take this challenge; mind games were always your forte, anyway,_: Leon told his hunt-mate.

:_Fine. Now shut up so I can concentrate._:

Ooh, testy. Leon gave a tight, humourless grin.

With deliberate steps, Makoe drew closer to that eerily quiet gathering. He stopped in front of the red foxes. Seconds ticked by. He reached out, palm down, as one may pat one's dog. His hand hovered in midair, while Leon and Samar watched anxiously.

There was a young fox cub with its tail curled daintily around its legs. It watched Makoe with all the wariness of a wild thing. It shrunk against the vixen as Makoe's hand hovered over it. Makoe bent and lay his palm lightly on its head.

:_This one,_: Makoe said.

Leon licked his lips and swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as dust.

All was still for a breathless second. Then, the vixen snarled, showing teeth in curious likeness of a vampire. :_Wrong!_:

As one, the animals attacked.

Leon was running towards Makoe without being conscious of moving. Only when he put his back to the dark vampire did he realize that Samar had followed him.

:_Samar!_: he roared in her mind before he caught himself. Rash as her action was, sending her back to Tristan now would probably be more dangerous than keeping her here with him. He pulled out his gun and started shooting, as did Makoe.

Samar drew a knife but refrained from throwing them, slashing instead at the small creatures that hurled themselves at her.

This is crazy, Leon thought, batting aside a hummingbird. The tiny creature zipped past his defensive hand and dove for his face. He grabbed it, desperately, and squeezed. Makoe had caught a coyote and had sunk his fangs into it. Leon looked down as small claws dug into his leg: a skunk.

The vampire kicked away with a strength born of sudden fright.

:_We can't keep this up,_: he told the others, spotting more birds winging their way towards them.

:_No,_: Makoe agreed :_Nor are we meant to. This is a test of Power._:

:_What?_: How did this translate to a test of Power?

The bear was lumbering towards them, rearing up on its hind legs. The hawk screamed high overhead.

:_I have an idea. I'm going to need all the Power we both have._:

The bear was almost on top of them, and the hawk could be seen plummeting towards them.

Leon let down his mental defenses enough to 'clasp' Makoe's 'hand' and felt the cold darkness of his friend envelop him. Leon felt like a modest stream flowing into a gushing river.

He didn't know what Makoe was doing, but he felt a welling up, a building of some force, half-sensed as if through a paper screen. The bear let out a furious roar, just as Makoe _let go_.

It was like a bomb had been set off.

It rippled outward in a growing circle. Animals fell and lay still as it swept over them. In the wake of that burst of Power, the world was quiet. Leon found himself also on the ground, collapsed and drained of energy.

He stayed there, grateful for the peace of the moment.

It didn't last long.

With a rumbling felt with no physical sensor, Power crashed over them, twice as strong as what they had released.

:_Absorb it!_:

Only Makoe's timely instruction allowed Leon to keep from being overwhelmed - and even then, only barely.

"What the hell?" Leon choked out when the wave had passed, not trusting his mindvoice. He felt like he was going to fly apart, brimming with Power and barely able to contain it. It was a precarious sensation, like he could lose control at any moment...

:_He turned it back on us._:

"What?"

:_The Power we unleashed. It was turned back on us by the barrier._:

"Leon?" Samar shook his shoulder, scowling down at him anxiously.

He blinked at her, feeling like an owl.

:_Wits, have you?_:

It was the Old One, taunting them. Leon looked around, distracted.

"Leon? Say something!"

On the floor beside him, furred and feathered forms were stirring fitfully.

Leon tried to form a warning, but his tongue felt too large for his mouth. Well, he had all this Power; maybe he could just blast them again...

"Makoe! The animals! Makoe!"

Leon looked over, distracted again. The dark vampire ignored Samar's shouts. He was staring at the trees. Maybe he was feeling some of what Leon was feeling too. After all, he was the most Powerful member of the hunt. And if Leon had absorbed so much Power - twice as much as he had released - then Makoe must have...

With a flare of red feathers, the hawk took to the air. It circled overhead as the bear lumbered to its feet, swaying unsteadily and looking as drunken as Leon felt. It growled, short little noises, as it continued its interrupted charge - albeit more slowly - towards the vampires.

Leon, with Samar's help, managed to stand. "I'll blast them," Leon told her, almost casually.

Makoe raised his hand, still holding his gun.

"No, Makoe, I'll do it. I'm good for it. I won't even need my gun." Makoe shot.

It was only then that Leon realized that he was aiming for the trees. The phlegmatic vampire started to say that Makoe must be even more off-the-mark than he was, but he didn't get the chance.

The bullet sped towards the oak tree. Just before it embedded itself into the bark, a spectral figure surged out of the trunk and caught the bullet in an outreached hand.

It settled in front of the tree, green robes falling gracefully around it.

Leon blinked and found himself lying on the ground on the other side of the clearing. He rolled over and sat up. A couple of steps in front of him was Makoe, feet spread and right hand aiming the gun unerringly at where the green-shrouded figure stood in front of an oak tree.

Beside the Old One, Samar gave a cry and fell to the ground beside her brother. "Tristan!"

Leon blinked.

:_And so you passed the trial. Are you satisfied?_:

Makoe lowered his gun but did not seem inclined to answer immediately.

It had all been an illusion. The animals, the Power bomb and the rebound - none of it had been real.

It had _felt_ real, Leon thought wonderingly. His lips twitched at the memory of himself drunk on Power and he shook himself. Now was not the time to think about that. He hesitated for only a brief second, before going to Samar.

She had Tristan's shoulders in a death grip. "What's going on?" she hissed when he knelt beside her. "I'll tell you later. It's over now," he said. He looked at Tristan. "Is he-"

"Alive!" she said firmly, and for a moment, Leon could have sworn that she almost thumped her brother on the chest just to let him know he had better live up to her claim.

:_Satisfied, no._: Leon looked up to see the silent confrontation between the two Powerful beings.

Makoe paused after the bald answer. :_But honored all the same, to have had the chance to face you._: He bowed stiffly at the waist.

Elena and Madelene appeared beside them, the blonde girl reaching for Stefan, and the healer bending over Tristan.

Before Leon or Samar could say anything, the Old One asked:_It is over, then?_:

Makoe seemed to have trouble answering. Finally, he looked away and bit out. :_It is._:

The simple pronouncement galvanized the immortal into movement. He lifted his face to the sky, arms outstretched in supplication. His mindvoice was no longer malevolent or sinuous. Instead, it rung with fierce joy. :_Elena!_:

Beside him, Samar gasped.

The Old One's hood slide off his head, revealing a face they had all come to know well.

* * *

Perhaps he lost consciousness, but Stefan rather thought not; he was fully aware of himself, although his senses told him nothing - no sight but darkness, no sound but silence, no sensation of touch at all. 

Out of this nothingness, came a sense that belonged to no human. Wordless meaning formed in his mind and his sight was dazzled by a kaleidoscope of shifting images.

:_In the beginning, they were seven and they were Power._:

An image came to him; seven bright figures standing in a circle, equidistance from each other.

:_A pact was made, such that no outside force could ever weaken their power. It would take one of them to break the pact, a thing that would never happen for they were all selfish beings, jealous in their Power._:

A shining line extended from each of the seven, joining in the middle of the circle like the axes of a wheel. The center pulsed, then exploded into a ball of light. Blank whiteness washed away all images.

Stefan's mind filled with visions of individuals shrouded in Power.

The first was a dark and powerful man. He stood above a battlefield, watching imperiously. A light in his eyes and a faint twist of his lips betrayed his relish at the bloodbath around him.

The second drifted like a ghost, leaving lifeless bodies in its wake. A deep cowl hid his face, but not the liquid grace of his every motion, nor the chilling apathy in the white fingers and the blood-soaked cloak.

The third was the antithesis of the other two and shocked Stefan. He was surrounded by many adoring faces, human and vampiric alike. But what caught Stefan off guard was the seemingly genuine joy and love he exhibited in return.

Stefan expected the scene to change, to show a most heart-rending betrayal. But the silent parade moved on without tragedy.

The fourth was someone he recognized all too easily. Electric blue eyes with that fanatic light in them, crafty smile edged with malice. The man was leaning over a cowering girl. He let out a soundless laugh, looking as if he was enjoying himself immensely.

The image shifted again to a man enthroned in an armchair. The room was luxurious, with all the trappings of great wealth and the power that comes with it. The man's face was in shadow; all that was visible were his eyes - glittering yellow as a tiger's as it sights its prey - and his sculpted lips curled in a cold, cruel smile. There was a blaze of fire, then the scene darkened and died.

The sixth figure was shown in quiet serenity, at odds with all Stefan knew of the Old Ones. This one, too, Stefan could recognize. He sat atop a mountain, wrapped in a slate blue cloth, almost blending into the gray fog that clung to him, save the dark hair that flowed like liquid night down his back. A passing cloud hid the austere figure, then drifted away to reveal a young tree clinging to bare rock where an Old One had sat a moment ago. A dove alighted on the tree's branches as that image too dimmed to darkness.

Stefan waited for the final Old One to be revealed. He wondered about this seventh Power. Why had he betrayed his fellows?

Instead of an image, the Old One seemed to have heard his thoughts. A voice sounded in the nothingness, at once impossibly close and unimaginably far off.

:_Mortal, you cannot know. To have your very essence violated, twisted, your every instinct turned against you, inflicting pain. You long for death but it is beyond your reach, bound as you are to a pact of Power that has become a curse. Even vampires have the choice of ending their life in sunlight or by the stake. Not so an Old One. Every moment of your existence wears on you. It drives you mad, drives you to do anything to end it._

:_That is how this series of events have come to pass. The downfall of the Brethren. I have been its instrument._:

What happened? Stefan asks silently. Even now, I don't understand.

:_You wish my tale?_: The mental voice was so weary that hearing it was enough to sap Stefan's strength, but there was impatience there as well.

Yes, Stefan replied simply.

A shadowy figure moved in his mind's eye. The figure was disorienting to see; an Old One's aura of Power encased him, but it was significantly dimmer. Veins of green and brown ran through the blood-red.

:_I singled her out for prey, that accursed day. She was a witch, I could tell, but that had never made a difference to me before. Unfortunately, for me, she was a very _strong_ witch. Perhaps the strongest there is and ever was. Strong enough to face me. Strong enough to bind our fates together._: There was a drawn out silence at that point. Finally, the seventh continued his tale.

:_I fought. I tried to drain her, but it was like trying to drain myself. I could feel my Power seeping away. I left. Distance did nothing to her curse. Worse, I discovered that I had her gifts, had lost a measure of my own._: The spectral figure seemed to grimace. :_Awareness of Nature was acutely uncomfortable, for one who opposes her order._

:_I tracked down my little witch, discovered that she now had those abilities I had lost. _She_ claimed that it could not be undone, no matter how I tried to coerce her. I kept a watch over her while I sought a way to reverse the curse. I never managed to, though I tried for years. And then she died._: Another extended pause.

:_In the moment of her death, I felt the curse recoil on me. My Power returned, but so did the rest of hers. The curse doubled; my dual awareness cut me both ways. Before, it was merely a disconcerting condition; now, it was implacable conflict locked within me. I sought an end. On the Solstice a year ago, I struck a bargain with Nature; the eradication of all my kind in exchange for my own oblivion._

:_Nature chose her envoy; I was told to seek out the returned human Elena. The rest, you know,_: the seventh - the last, the only - Old One finished.

Yes.

:_And now, we finish this._:

Stefan tumbled back to awareness of his body. He lay still a moment after opening his eyes, orienting himself. Cool hands touched his shoulders, raising him up; Elena. He smiled into her worried eyes, and she responded with a slight curve of her own lips.

Stefan looked around. They were no longer in that field of spikes, but on a rolling green slope. Beside him, Tristan was unconscious, his wounds still red and angry. Maddy was attending to him. Samar and Leon also knelt beside the vampire, but their attention was captured elsewhere.

Stefan turned his head to see the man with his hands thrown wide and his face to the sky. He felt no surprise at the realization of the Old One's true identity; the knowledge only completed the inkling that had begun yesterday when he had stood embracing Elena in the woods and the mild man they had called a witch came seeking her.

Elena's hands slipped of his shoulders. She cast him one last glance before stepping past him. In that glance, he saw in her expression both trepidation for an unknown future, and relief at finally bringing this to a close.

Jerrick - the Old One - lowered his hands and turned to her.

No further signal was needed.

Their eyes locked fast, Elena stepped forward. "_Ohnerast Eilif,_" she pronounced his Name in a tone both firm as stone, yet forceful as a gale wind. _Ohnerast Eilif_, the immortal without rest. "_E'yem kreesh a'tere._"

His expression was dignified and bland, but somehow, Stefan sensed that it was a flimsy façade over desperate need. "_N'sa makut nemue d'eth,_" the lyric phrase flowed from his lips, ending with a sigh. He bowed his head, an incongruously humble image.

Elena stopped just out of arms' length before him and held out a hand to him. "_Tana e'yl lyenir. Ethir mot a kish'te._" Her voice was surprisingly gentle as she said this.

Stefan wondered what the words meant.

Light began to emanate from the Old One, barely noticeable at first, then growing into an aura. It swathed Ohnerast Eilif, obscuring him from sight. Stefan's now-human eyes watched the dizzying sight of what seemed a whirlwind of light; textured, bright and dark, but all light, ever moving, gaining speed as it spun.

Like a skein of thread being unwound, the whirlwind shrunk as it spun, becoming thinner and thinner, until at least it disappeared altogether, like a wisp of smoke.

Stefan remembered Shiva's unmaking and started towards Elena in concern; there were no Turned with which to disperse the Old One's Power...

He was nearly knocked over by an unseen ripple of Power flowing outward from where Ohnerast Eilif had stood. Following the wave, Stefan was dizzied by the sensation of the ground shifting beneath him. Glancing aside, he knew that Samar and Leon had felt it too.

The leaves rustled in the forest behind them. Stefan thought he heard a woman's sigh , the sound hollow, ghostly.

He blinked once in surprise but the sound was gone. Or perhaps was never there.

Feeling decidedly thrown off balance, he braced himself for any other odd occurrences, but seconds ticked by and there was only stillness.

The tableau was broken when Elena stirred. In the aftermath of the unmaking and the upheavals that followed, she had been sitting quietly on the ground, her legs folded beneath her, with her hands clasped in her lap.

"Stefan?"

He stumbled to her side, and crouched beside her, taking her hand between his own.

Tristan was conscious, disoriented and disgruntled. Samar's acid remarks did not help his temperament. Leon steered clear of the sibling spat although he held onto Samar's wrist to keep her from going too near her brother.

Maddy had stepped away, her task as healer done and her unruffled composure in tact. Stefan thought he read a hint of sadness in the slump of her shoulders and Stefan wondered if it could possibly be for Jerrick.

Makoe also stood apart, arms crossed and expression more closed than usual. Stefan wondered what had happened after Jerrick had come upon him and Tristan in the dell of spikes.

Elena squeezed his hand, calling his attention to her. She lifted her face to him, eyes shining and moist. "It's done. I'm free. We're free," she whispered, in wonder.

Realization hit him. They were free...

Free to pursue their own life, with no obligations to anyone, any larger cause. They had paid their dues, had bought this freedom with blood and more. A subconscious sense of stasis, of waiting for something to happen suddenly lifted.

His fingers tightened on hers. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her palm. "_Ti amo_, Elena Gilbert," was all he could say. All there was left to say.

All that needed to be said.

Old Onee's speech translation:  
_E'yem kreesh a'tere._ - Your time has come.  
_N'sa makut nemue d'eth._ - It's a good night to stop.  
_Tana e'yl lyenir. Ethir mot a kish'te._ - Receive your reward. Rest and be at peace.

* * *

To: bonbons, msulez  
From: nightlight  
Subject: Yes, I'm still alive...  
Date: Sun, 18 Oct 1993 13:01:15 -0800 

Dear Bonnie, Meredith,

Yes, I'm still alive...although... it's a _really long_ story. But I'm alive and well and so is Stefan. And that counts for a lot. In fact, that's _all_ that counts.

So what's this long story that's kept me AWOL for the last five months? It's... really too complicated (not to mention crazy and not the kind of thing I like to have down in writing, if you know what I mean?) to explain here.

I have some good news though; Stefan and I should be making a trip down to D.C. next week - I think we need a bit of a change of scene after everything that's been going on the past few months here. Anyway, I'm hoping we can swing by good ol' Virginia (or something) for a night (or more, if at all possible) and we can catch up? I'll explain -- _everything_ then.

I hope the months have been kind to you both. I look forward to seeing you soon.

Love, E.

PS. Stefan proposed! We're getting married in December. You're both invited, of course! Will you be my bridesmaids? We can go shopping for my trousseau when we meet up. And Bonnie, if you think you're excited, imagine how I feel?

-- end

* * *

**NOTE:**  
This author's note got so long that I decided to put it on my LJ instead to spare those of you who'd rather not hear my introspective ramblings! (If you turn out to be a glutton for punishment, you can skip the rest of this and go straight to the the full author's notes - the link is in my profile since they won't let me post it in the chapter.) 

_Phew!_ I made it. I actually, really made it. Well, folks. It's been a long journey. Three years and one month, and 193 000 words! I like to think it was worth it. :o)

Where do we go from here?  
1. I'll be posting a gallery of pictures of the characters but not yet. Watch my LiveJournal (see my profile) for news on that or drop me an email/comment with your email address.  
2. I've set up a short poll if you'd like to take a couple of minutes to do it. (see my profile)  
3. There will be no sequel (and I really hope I don't eat my words). _The Vampire Diaries_ has all the closure I could want and I'm content to leave it at that.  
4. There may be a one-shot Damon fic (completely unrelated to Leaf) in the near future. Wish me luck:o)

**I want to give lots of thanks to you readers for feedback and support.** Especially to **Eleia** and **Kichiko** for taking the time to drop me a note, for being supportive and patient. And thank you, everyone who has EVER dropped me a comment / email. It is much appreciated and cherished!

I _still_ welcome comments and feedback of any sort, even though it's the last chapter. I still like to hear from y'all, even questions, if there are any (like you don't get/agree with the ending, for instance.)

Thanks for reading!


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